She closed her eyes feeling faint. Exasperated with wanting him for all this time. Every nerve in her body tangled, attuned to every fibre of his...."Now, don't think of me as your Hercules, your pleasure boy, Gail," said Kent. "I hope you liked it, and I know you needed it ... but don't expect a performance every day. Remember, I do the chasing." Gail felt like slapping him down, telling him to keep away. But she kept silent. It had been too wonderful and she didn't want him to stay away. She needed him as she never had thought she'd need a man before. Poor Kent didn't know what was in store for him ... but Gail knew!
CHAPTER ONE
Gail was ready to parry her husband's wrath-if wrath he would choose to gain his ends. After all, she smiled at her provocative slimness reflected in the tall mirror, she was bound to win this, as any, argument. Jack was so emotional, a quality she entirely lacked; thus she had the upper hand. At least so far it had been that way. Funny how quickly a girl could lose her yen for a guy after she had all of him. I'm more like a man really, she reflected, peeling off the damp bathing suit and stepping gingerly out of the moist red ring. The pursuit, the chase, is what I prefer about the love game. She threw back her sun-washed shoulders and cupped her hard, trim breasts. Yes, snatching tall, brawny Jack Michaels right from under her sister's nose practically on the eve of their wedding had been a master coup. Even now, four years later and knowing that she had snatched an uninteresting, average guy, she recalled the incident with stark pleasure.
She, Gall, the scrawny drab chick had stepped right up and helped herself to the prize. Her gloating was mixed with triumphant hate. For she had always hated her younger sister Myra whose sleek beauty made Gail an also ran. Myra had everything Gail lacked-lovely silver-gold hair, violet eyes that ate into a man's soul making him ache to surrender, hair and hide. A dreamy figure with a bust that put Jayne Mansfield to shame, and legs as slim and straight as displayed in any stocking ad. With all Myra's pulchritude went a sweet, even disposition and a candor too good to be true. Yes, Myra who believed in people and in truth had been so easy to deceive; it had almost taken the joy out of deceiving her.
Gail ran her long fingers through her short bronze curls and looked at herself critically. And with pleasure. Surprising what grooming could do to a woman's appearance. Her green eyes sprinkled with malice. She ran her hands down her narrow hips and inspected every inch of her tanned, boyish anatomy. The artfully winged brows, and the wide mouth painted a provocative red gave her plain face with the prominent cheek bones an exotic allure. Even her button nose, once her despair, fitted the incongruous pattern of beauty she now flaunted.
my skin was always my biggest asset, she reflected. And after all, a man's interest in a woman is mostly skin-deep. She walked to the portable bar and poured herself half a glass of bourbon. No water. She could take life and her drinks undiluted. She drained the glass and sat in the green easy chair, closing her eyes. For a few short moments, before facing the storm, she would permit herself the luxury of drinking back-four years back.
Gail, a drab stick of a girl, her undeveloped meager body belying her twenty three years, had gone into Myra's room and had stood at die open door watching her sister in her magnificent white satin gown. The diaphanous veil framed the pale face in which the eyes shimmered like dew-wet violets.
"Very sweet. Now give us a blush, Myra. Isn't it a bit premature-I mean with Jack two thousand miles away." Her hands clutched at her meager bosom in the utterly superfluous bra, feeling the letter there, safely hidden.
"Oh Gail, I know it's silly, but putting on the gown makes it easier for me to believe I shall be Mrs. Jack Michaels in less than a week." She took off the veil and started to unzip the gown.
Gail perched on the nearest chair watching the beautiful, madonna-like face closely. "Heard from your dream boy lately?" she inquired.
Myra stepped out of the gown and placed it carefully on the bed. She wrinkled her forehead and die violet eyes looked troubled. "Jack's last letter from Oakland is ten days old. He said his business there might take longer than he anticipated. Also he hinted about certain changes in our plans. Oh Gail," she threw her arms about her sister's scrawny neck, "I do hope we have the church wedding here iii Plymouth Falls, as planned. I know Jack wanted a simple wedding-no bridesmaids and all the rest."
"Well, it wouldn't matter to me where I was married-if I wanted a guy that badly," said Gail, disengaging herself.
Myra gazed at her sister, wondering once more how different they felt about almost everything.
"You never liked Jack Michaels." Myra walked up to the mirror and started brushing that wonderful foamy hair of hers. "And yet, Jack likes you a lot. He thinks you're so clever."
I don't like him, thought Gail, her insides cramping with the old ache. I love the guy. I want him for myself. Yes, she pursued the thought and a wild hilarity took possession of her, and my cleverness shall get me that price.
She hoped her voice sounded calm and composed. "Oh, I have nothing against Jack. He's just not my type. Main thing is you like him, isn't it?"
"I couldn't imagine my life without him," said Myra simply.
Well, you better start imagining, it was on the tip of Gail's tongue to blurt out the words. She bit her lip and forced a smile to her lips. "That's foolishness. You're too emotional, Myra. Me, I'll never allow myself to get caught in my emotions. I'll just pick out a guy, say this one suits me, and I'll go after him till I get him."
"I do wish you happiness, Gail. But I doubt you can catch it scheming so-coldbloodedly."
Gail had rushed to her room, locked the door, and had taken out the precious letter from its hiding place. How to get to Chicago in three days? For, that's where Jack would be expecting his bride, to be married there before a justice of the peace and then rush right back to Oakland with his new spouse. Straightening the crumpled sheets of paper, she re-read the important part: T shall be expecting you on Thursday, June 15th, in Chicago. I have reserved a suite at the Drake Hotel. Do not fail me. Forget about that church wedding. I need my wife by my side for the next three months, in Oakland where business forces me to remain.
Your loving Jack.' Someone will be in the Drake Hotel on Thursday, decided Gail, frowning down at the letter. And it's going to be me! But how? Whom did she know in that town? But of course, Louise Welch, her former classmate was studying painting there with that man-what was his name? Some Italian. Yes, Ventusi.
Gail rummaged through her desk drawer and unearthed the gaudy Christmas card, reading the words scribbled on the inside. 'I'm living in a nice, inexpensive boarding house.' Yes, there was the address. But a letter would take too much time. She grabbed her coat and rushed out, taking a cab to the post office. No trouble at all; she found the number of Mrs. Wilkes in the Chicago phone book and made her call, praying Louise would be home; it was almost dinner time. Ten seconds later, she listened to Louise's joyful voice.
"Gail, how wonderful! I had hoped you would visit Chicago. Where are you staying?"
"I'm calling from Plymouth Falls, Louise. But I intend to show up in Chicago this Tuesday-that is if you make your invitation urgent enough. Say, for instance, yes, that'll do it-like inviting me to your wedding."
"But-I'm not getting married, Gail."
""It doesn't matter. But I have to be in Chicago Thursday-I shall explain when I see you-and only this will make it possible. Please Louise, don't let me down ... my future depends on it."
"Some man, I bet," giggled Louise.
Gail hadn't said yes or no to that. But she had convinced Louise. That same evening the wire had arrived, throwing consternation among the members of Gail's family.
"But you can't go," said Gail's mother in her plaintive voice. "After all, we have a wedding all planned here."
"Louise is my best and only friend," Gail had insisted. "I can't let her down. And," she smiled wickedly, "I can use that bridesmaid's dress for Louise's wedding. Saves money."
"Gail," her mother shuddered, "you wouldn't?"
The following evening Gail took the plane for Chicago, with the pink lace dress carefully packed in her suit case.
Louise, good old reliable, was waiting for her a. die airport. Just as expansive as of yore, she kissed Gail enthusiastically and grabbed her bag.
"Gail, you look marvelous; you have changed."
Quickly she stopped herself from adding 'you're pretty now."
"Well, if I have changed it's to the good." Gail laughed and followed Louise who had a car waiting.
"I borrowed a friend's car," mentioned Louise as they were rolling along.
"What's she like?" Their eyes met in a smile of intimacy. For Gail, knowing Louise so well, also knew that men meant less than nothing to the girl. For one moment, Gail recalled their short interlude; it had been exciting. She might even repeat the venture? Yes, why not? Again, their eyes locked and Louise smiled her crooked, half-tender smile.
"She's a sculptor, the owner of this car, quite good. A redhead-they're exciting. But not as exciting as you are, Gail. You have changed into a disturbing beauty."
"Nothing wrong with your looks, Louise. And I like that Italian hair cut. Suits your type." Gail's eyes went over the olive-green suit that underscored her friend's slimness and she noticed that the girl's green eyeshadow enhanced the strangeness of her yellow eyes. "Say, can I stay at your place-for tonight only?"
"It's all arranged. My bed is extra large. Good mattress." Again Louise smiled her crooked smile. "Mind telling me what really brings you to Chicago? For I don't flatter myself it's poor little me."
"Oh, it's a rather involved story. I'll tell you tomorrow," promised Gail, wondering whether she would tell and then deciding she would. She could trust Louise who would be her ally-if she gave the girl what she craved.
-They were lying in die wide bed. Louise's arm was around Gail's slender waist, her lips nibbled at the other girl's ear lobe.
"To me, you're still the most exciting girl I ever knew, Gail." A greedy gleam stole into the yellow eyes, making them golden. "Your skin-it's like that of a peeled peach." Gail didn't mind the searching hand that caressed her firm breasts. Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply and snuggled up to Louise.
"Funny, you're the only girl I ever-did it with. And you still get me all hot and bothered. Go ahead, you know what I like." Gail shifted position.
Louise got warmed up to the task. Streams of fire poured over Gail; her hands dug into the girl's shoulders. She trembled and glowed and her insides melted. Her nerve ends tingled and finally, sweetly relaxed, she surrendered, feeling warm waves of exaltation engulf her. Her body weightless, she was soaring up to a rosy cloud of Nirvana.
"You needed that badly, Gail. You were so wrought up." Louise detached herself and walked into the bathroom.
Gail sat up and lit a cigarette. Now came the uninteresting, duty-part of the dalliance. Girls, to Gail, really meant not much; she herself liked to be served, get her dose of thrills, after which she wanted to remain unmolested and aloof. Men were what she craved, and only a man's touch could provide the ultimate thrill. With them, her co-operation was enthusiastic.
Well, I better had please Louise's fancies, she decided, watching the girl approach the bed. I need her as an ally in the upcoming, most important transaction of my young life.
Louise sat down close to Gail, her yellow eyes darkened, full of wanting. Shamelessly, she gripped Gail's right hand and placed it where she wanted it-on the gelatinous globe of her right breast.
"You used to say they were the sweetest melons, Gail. Remember?"
Gail sat up and passed her hands over the ripe fruit, now hefting the heavy balls and wiggling them playfully. Louise lay back, closed her eyes and sighed deeply, expecting the full, loving treatment. Gail started rubbing her own trim breasts against the quivering balloons, now flicking her pointed tongue over the stiff nipples.
"Ooooh, some more. It's soo good." Louise squirmed and her legs scissored.
Viciously, .Gail bit into the soft rondure, wanting to hurt, despising herself for administering to the avid girl's need.
"Ouch, that hurts, Gail. Go easy."
Gail passed a soothing tongue over the hurt; her palms slid down the plump thighs. She watched Louise's taut face, deciding to prolong the girl's torture.
"Tell me, Louise, did you ever-try a man?"
Louise's eyes opened, she hissed. "Men are beasts, I hate them. I had enough knowing one man-my stepfather. He taught me to despise men. And from that time on-I was sixteen when-when he had me in the cellar-I never let another man come near me."
"But wasn't it exciting, Louise, to-to have a man touch you there?" Gail clutched the huge balls, a sardonic glint in her eyes. "Didn't it do things to you-to see all of a man, to watch him...."
Louise's face was pale; she shuddered. "I remember his huge hard hands clawing at me, the hairy thighs rubbing up against me-and when he brutally tore into me I felt nauseated. Fact is, after he left me, I vomited all over the cellar steps...."
An odd excitement took hold of Gail; she pictured it all in her mind, the huge hairy ape in the throes of lust forcing the white soft body of the child Louise to his will, delighting in his brutal taking, letting go of his passion and invading the helpless child's body. She almost felt as he must have felt-lusty, strong and virile-a reckless ravager. This was the incentive needed to goad her into action.
Her fingers dug into Louise's softness, the pointed nails raked down the thighs leaving red seams on white flesh. Louise wailed, but Gail could not stop. She yanked at die black hair and now thrust her body over the girl's plump form, making the bed-springs creak. Her hands yanked roughly at die breasts, making Louise sob. She ground her body into the other's soft curves, wanting to hurt and humiliate the girl for being a girl, and not a man worthy of Gail's administrations. Finally, just as Louise was panting for release,-Gail jumped up, went to the dresser. She grabbed up the long-handled brush and returned to the bed, feeling Louise's frightened eyes on her.
"What-what are you going to do to me, Gail?" It was a whisper of anguish.
Gail brandished the brush. "Just wait and see, Louise," she said.
"Please, please, don't stop now, you can't leave me that way," moaned Louise.
With wicked glee Gail watched the huge, swollen breasts, the pale mask of face; Louise was at her mercy' She, Gail was die joy dispenser. The girl was trembling on the brink of fulfillment and only she, Gail, could bring her solace.
"I don't feel like going on," she said detachedly, "really, this seems stupid."
"Please Gail, don't leave me this way. I'm going crazy. I'll do anything you say, just don't leave me."
"Well, swear to never tell a soul-what I'm going to tell you-later."
"I swear it, Gail."
... Gail arose and went to the bathroom; she ached to wash her hands of the whole revolting procedure.
CHAPTER TWO
It's-why, it's definitely your kind of dress, Gail. It looks like you do-different, exclusive-unique."
Gail turned slowly, a self-satisfied smile on her strawberry-tinted lips. "Yes, I think the saleslady at Elaine's was right. Chartreuse is my color." Her hands felt of the softly shimmering silk, following the heart-shaped neck line. "And I bought a coat to match the dres's."
"You mean you bought the outfit at Elaine's?" asked Louise with awe. "Then it must bean original. She charges like hell I've been told.
"It will be worth the price-I hope," Gail smiled mysteriously. "You see, Louise, it will help me get what I want-a husband." She took off the dress and hung it in the closet. She sat down on the couch and patted the place next to her. "Sit down Louise, and listen. And then, forget what I told you."
Louise did as told, her yellow eyes aglow. "I can keep a secret, you know that. A husband? Is that why you came here, Gail? Who is he? Are you in love with him? And does he love you?"
"Too many questions, Louise. I'll try to answer them. Yes, that's why I came here, to get the man I want. The man my sister thinks she's going to marry ... As to being in love-I don't know." She frowned. "I don't really believe in love; it's an emotion that tries to make people appear different from what they truly are by glamorizing them and fitting them into your dream picture. Me? I'm a realist. I want Jack Michaels so badly it hurts. And I hope the power of my wanting is great enough to make him want me."
"You mean-" Louise opened her mouth, then closed it and took a deep breath-"you're snatching him away from Myra? But why, Gail? He's hers ... there are plenty of other men. Why hurt your own sister?"
"Because I-because I hate her, Louise. She always came first; they all love her. Everybody. She's so sweet and perfect, and no one can resist her. Well, I can. Oh, Jack likes me well enough but I want him really to see me, to want me-want me so much that Myra doesn't exist any more." Her green eyes were burning and in her pale face the mouth looked voracious.
"But Gail that's evil-it won't bring you happiness. And-yes," she stared at Gail's passionate face-"even if you get him-and you might be able to make him lose his head-you won't be able to keep him.
For passion is a fleeting thing, and caring, deeply caring, another."
"Maybe I don't care about-keeping him." Gail shrugged. "I don't think I'd ever be able to want a man-in fact, anything-forever. Possession kills enthusiasm. But right now while I ache with wanting, and as long as I feel that way, I must have him."
"But the wedding-your sister's wedding-was to be an elaborate affair. Isn't the bridegroom right now on his way to Plymouth Falls?"
Gail laughed harshly. "The bridegroom, my bridegroom, will be in Chicago tomorrow expecting to meet Myra in the Drake Hotel. You see, he changed his plans; he wants to be married quietly and without fanfare here and take the bride along with him to Oakland ... Only, the bride never received the letter explaining the change in plans...."
"You mean-you intercepted the letter? But how will you explain-"
"Oh, I have my explanation-in fact, I'm Myra's ambassador who has changed her mind...."
It was so monstrous, Louise found nothing to say.
"Think you can get away with it, Gail? He might want to contact Myra...."
"I intend to make him forget about Myra," said Gail, her eyes blazing, her cheeks flushed. "You see, not being emotional, I have studied Jack's character. Oh, he seems easy-going enough on the surface. And he'll give a girl leeway in small matters. But in the main issues he wants his way; his ego demands it. Well, I shall butter up his ego and be sweet, yet forceful. And I'm quite certain that in his busy days filled with lawsuits, Jack has wasted precious little time in ladies' boudoirs. He's full of suppressed fire and never having let off enough steam, he can be subdued by the senses."
Louise shook her head. "I'm surprised to see you in that state, Gail. How you have changed, you were always so cool and aloof. Even with Richard. Or, do you recall that second lover of yours at all? I know, Carl, your first one, was just a means to discover what sex was all about. I remember even now the way you described this affair-which was as far as you were concerned not one of the heart. 'I'm enjoying Richard's raving and rantings vastly; his intoxication amuses me and although at times he gives me great pleasure, after it's all over, when I zip up my dress, I feel untouched-as if it never had happened.'...."Yes, those exactly, were your words."
"Oh," Gail stamped her foot, "who wants to think of that dolt Richard? He took me nice places and brought me presents. Also, he was very clean. I like things hygienical ... And I'm still cool and collected-figuring how to get what I'm after...." She looked at Louise hard and long, wondering whether she dared shock her...."Want to know what makes me so hot for Jack?" She smiled more to herself, and closed her eyes to see the picture more clearly. "It was after one of our stuffy family dinners, with heaps of food and Burgundy for the solemn occasion-lots of Burgundy. Everybody had retired, and I had been watching Myra and Jack embracing from behind the door, furious with anger and jealousy. You see, Jack had the upstairs bedroom; between his room and mine was the bathroom. Well, after my nightly toilet, I left the door leading to my room slightly ajar. I had the bedlamp on and was reading, when I heard someone in the bathroom. I tiptoed to the door and peaked inside. Jack was standing there, smoking a cigar-stark-naked. Apparently, kissing Myra had gotten him aroused ... Well, he was still all up in the air. He flexed his arm muscles and breathed deeply, smiling stupidly at his manliness reflected in the mirror ... It was the most exciting spectacle ever, Louise. I trembled and hot and cold shivers chased down my spine ... What a man! was my first thought. And my second one, I must have him! I must tame this virility, subdue this regal animal and make him subservient to my desire...." She opened her eyes and laughed. "Well, there you have it. From that moment on all I did was scheming...."
Louise looked at Gail aghast. "You're crazy, Gail. For one fleeting moment of desire ... to tie yourself-if you succeed-to a man you'll tire of quickly. And what about your painting? And your yen to play the piano? I simply can't see you cooking dinner, washing dishes ... Babies...."
"Who's going to cook? Not me. We'll have a maid. And babies are out. There will be plenty of time for my painting. In this marriage things shall go my way."
"And what if-things don't go your way? You can't coerce a man into marriage."
"That possibility I'm not considering," stated Gail loftily. "Remember, a girl can get what she wants when she uses her head and her body."
But entering the subdued elegance of the lobby of the Drake, Gail wasn't quite so sure of herself. What if Jack refused to listen, didn't believe her, and took the first plane out to chase after the missing bride? Nonsense, she admonished herself, Jack is a man; his vanity will be hurt. Play it right, and you have him.
She didn't walk up to the desk but looked for the house phone. He would be waiting in his room. Take the bull by the horns, she told herself, lifting the receiver.
"Mr. Jack Michaels, please." Her tone was self-assured; the sound of her voice gave her courage. She waited, her hand clutching the receiver.
"Jack Michaels speaking."
"Jack," she had to stop for a deep breath, "this is Gail-Gail Harris. May I come up?"
"Why Gail, how nice. So you came along with Myra. Come right on up, both of you."
What self-assurance, thought Gail, stepping into the elevator. Stepping right out again. What a nuisance, now she had to confront that desk clerk after all. She walked up to the desk, smiling her off-hand, haughty smile.
"Mr. Jack Michaels' room number, please." And, as he frowned at her behind thick-lensed glasses.
"He's expecting me."
He rotated the room index. "Six twenty five, Miss."
"Thank you."
In the corridor, she took the mirror from her black patent leather purse and scrutinized her face. Beneath the chartreuse beret the red curls framed her pale face. She passed her tongue over the deep-red lips, put the mirror back and snapped the purse closed. There, now to confront her destiny.
The door was ajar; she knocked lightly.
"Come right in."
"Darling!" Two tweedy arms were wrapped about her and a hungry mouth ground into hers. Abruptly he let go of her, frowning, a helpless look in his dark eyes. "Gail! Sorry to be so impetuous. I thought it was Myra...." his eyes looked over her chartreuse shoulder. "Where is she?"
"Calm down, Jack. And no need being sorry. At least not for me." She looked him over, now almost hopeful he wouldn't appeal to her. But he had not changed; his lean face with the strafing eyebrows and the wide, sensuous lips looked to her as desirable as ever. The brown tie matched his eyes.
"Gail, where is Myra? Is anything wrong? She isn't sick?"
The concern in his voice and eyes angered Gail.
"Not when I last saw her, she wasn't. But, won't you invite me to sit down?"
"Of course, sorry, but I'm really worried now. Here." He steered her to the brown couch and she sat down.
"You better sit here by me, Jack." She patted the couch. "Close," she invited, hoping he would like the expensive scent she wore.
He sat down, a perturbed look on his face. "You do look wonderful, Gail. Better than ever. But, where is Myra? She must have gotten my letter-else, how could you be here?"
"Always the legal mind at work," she smiled. "Yes, she did get your letter, and-"
"And what?"
"And she sent me to-explain matters to you."
"Explain? What is there to explain? We are getting married here, and I'm taking my bride to Oakland-it was all in the letter."
"That was your plan, Jack-but it didn't seem to fit in with hers ... You know how Myra is, she had her heart set on this big wedding ... Now, if it were me, I would just sneak off with my man and get married and follow him to the ends of the earth...." She paused, watching him pale.
He arose and went to the window, standing with his back to her. After a long pause he said. "So she isn't coming and she sent you to explain."
"Oh, she wanted to send a wire, but I spoke up and made myself her ambassador. I even invented a visit to a girl friend here ... You see," she stepped' up behind him and touched his shoulder, "I thought it would lessen the hurt-I just hated to see you get hurt, Jack," she whispered.
He turned around and looked at her closely. His voice sounded brutally non-concerned.
"Thanks for your sympathy. But why should you care?" He started pacing the rug, Gail seemed forgotten. He was talking to himself. "What does she expect? For me to dash back to Plymouth Falls, neglect the Wertheimer case, mess up my best client just to have some priest bless our union in her home town?" He came to halt in front of Gail. "Well, you can tell her from me that the wedding is not going to take place-any place. And thanks for coming all the way to tell me, Gail. It was thoughtful. But then; I always knew you for a fair person."
She arose, it was her cue to leave. But she had no intention of leaving him. "Jack," she touched his arm, "what are you going to do?"
"Do?" He looked at her, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'm taking the next plane out, back to Oakland. And," he lifted her hand and touched his lips to it, "thanks to a gallant lady. I always sensed you'd be on my side, Gail. If you ever need advice-legal or otherwise...."
"Thanks, Jack. I would always take the advice of a man like you. But," she smiled into his dark eyes, "I have a favor to ask of you-maybe it sounds childish...."
"Go ahead and ask."
"Well, this is my last night in Chicago and I feel kind of lost in the big city. Couldn't you-postpone your departure and take a lonely girl outto dinner?"
"Hm, lonely girl, lonely man. Well," he stared into her green eyes and patted her smooth cheek. "Yes, why not? It sounds attractive. In fact, I feel like celebrating my bachelorhood. But I warm you, I may get stinko. And when I do, I get nasty."
"That doesn't worry me one bit," stated Gail, slipping out of her coat. "In fact, I could use a drink right now." She dropped the coat on a chair and took off the beret. "A man of your caliber should have a bottle in his room."
"And what do you know about a man like me?" He smiled thinly. "But you're right." He opened the closet and took out a half-filled bottle. "Bourbon okay? Shall I call room service for ice?"
Gail shook her head. "Straight-that's how I like things." He poured two water glasses half full, handing her one.
"I can't get over it-you coming all the way to soften the blow. Here's to' a swell kid." He clinked his glass to hers, draining his.
Gail followed suit feeling comforting warmth coating her insides. She watched him toss down another drink, hoping it would help her cause.
"Want me to pick you up later, Gail?"
She shook her head. "I have no intention leaving you here to grieve. Besides, it's almost six now, and I haven't eaten for hours."
"Good grief! Well, in that case we better get going. But maybe I should change?"
"You look good to me Jack the way you are."
He smiled. "Well, thanks, lady. I'll just go and wash my hands."
Gail stepped up to the dresser and looked at her face in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her curls and bent close to study the expression of her eyes. Green, she thought, the color of hope. I'm on my way. She nodded at her reflection, picked up die beret and adjusted it at the proper angle on her curls.
"Did I tell you how smart you look, Gail? That color is quite becoming. I feel proud to be your escort."
"Pleasure's all mine." She smiled and slipped into the coat he held open for her. She watched him pick up his grey Fedora.
"Well, out on the town. Oh, how about one for the road?" He poured the remains of the bottle into the two tumblers and clinked his glass to hers. "Pals?" he asked.
"Pals," she said, finishing the drink together with him. She stepped up close and touched his lean cheek. "Mind me telling you I think you're swell?" Hoping this was no tactical error, she brushed his cheek with her lips.
"Same here." He caught her around the waist and kissed her smack on the lips, abruptly releasing her. "And now, let's do the town."
CHAPTER THREE
You know, Gail, you're the best I'll pal a man ever had. Too bad-"
"Too bad, what, Jack dear?" Gail held still, offering her shoulder as a chusion for Jack's tired head. They were the only customers in the Red Ant Inn, and the bartender was eyeing them malevolently. He's just debating with himself whether our bar bill is big enough to cover a fine for keeping open after hours, reflected Gail.
She gazed tenderly at Jack's ruffled hair, deciding it was a sin for a man to have such long, curly lashes.
They had done the town, starting at the top, with dinner at the Edgezvater Beach, then on to some floor show with girls flashing black-stockinged legs, dancing a wicked Can can. After that, a blue-smoky place, called Green Parrot, finally ending their tour on a downward slide in this joint.
And now it was after two a.m., and she had to decide how to bring this night to a fitting close-one fitting in with her plans. The thing to do, she decided, was to get him sobered up and drive to some little town and get married at once. But sober he would object. And drunk no justice of the peace would marry them.
The bartender was at their table. "Lady, I've got to close up. Want me to help you move him?" He could afford to be generous, his tip had been.
"Is there any place open nearby? Some diner, maybe? Black coffee."
"Sure, the Waggon Wheel, right next door."
Gail pushed Jack up, dumped the hat on his tousled head. "Jack dear, time to leave." She yanked at his arm.
His eyes came open and he grinned at her. "You're a pal. Nice girl, not Myra-but nice."
Did he have to mention her now? "Jack try to get up."
With the help of the bar man he was hoisted up to his feet; the man hooked one arm about his middle and Gail shoved. It seemed a twenty mile drag to the counter of the diner. The bar man had departed and Gail was feeding Jack black coffee. Luckily they were the only customers.
Jack recovered surprisingly quick. He blinked, frowned, and sighed exhaustively. Now he looked at Gail and gave her a big smile. "I'm sorry Gail, I lost control. I'm truly sorry to spoil your evening."
"Nonsense, I had a wonderful time, Jack."
"You know, you're quite a girl. I never had a chance to really know you. You and I, we get along famously ... How come you haven't got a fellow? Are they all blind? What I see of you looks awfully attractive."
"Maybe," she smiled into his dark eyes, "I had my eyes on a fellow-who had his eyes on somebody else." She held the look.
"Must be some stupid guy."
Gail never moved her eyes off his face. "No, he's a wonderful guy, smart as they come, a mind like a butcher knife ... handsome to boot ... and you know him as you know yourself," she ended, a tremor in her voice.
There was a silence she thought would last forever.
"Gail, this is no time in my life to listen to some joke. When the cardboard house of illusion came tumbling down on me...."
"I'm not joking, Jack. Why do you think I came all the way to Chicago to soften the blow for you? Oh, I know I'm a very foolish girl...."
His eyes looked at her, through her, and a slow tenderness crept into them. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Foolish you may be, but you're very sweet ... And now, let's leave this stinking place. I wish we were in New York right this minute. A ride through the Park with my girl by my side would be just the thing. Walking and getting some fresh air is die next best thing."
So they walked arm in arm, and finally landed in some scrubby park pressed between narrow-chested houses where they sat on a bench and watched the grey dawn creep up the sky. Talking. Talking. With him telling her about the law case he was on, the nice little house in Oakland he had rented, his aloneness. And her confiding that she needed the moral support and the stout-hearted love who would guide her with and through understanding, and to whom she would devote every moment of her life. Someone to look up to who would not fail her.
"And to think I almost married the wrong girl," he said, his arm around her waist.
This made Gail sit up and stare at him. "Don't say things you don't mean, Jack. Don't hurt me," she whispered, withdrawing her hand. She found it proper to get up and frown.
He pulled her back down on the bench, all forceful manhood now. "Look at me, Gail." He twisted her chin, forcing her to meet his dark eyes. "I want you to know I'm stone sober now. And I don't usually propose to girls on a park bench. Strange, it's as if I had never known Myra; she seems a shadow in my past. But you are real, alive. And you are what I need and want. Tell me-no, I don't want your answer now. Think it over ... I can stay on for another day-a day I want to spend with you. And then-it's up to you whether you want to come along with me to Oakland ... We could be married along the way."
"What, no bridesmaids?" she giggled.
He scowled and pressed her hand. "Don't joke, this is serious. I want you to think it over."
She took a deep breath, her voice came as a whisper. "I am serious, my darling, and I don't have to think it over."
He read the answer in her green-flashing eyes and was overwhelmed.
"You may kiss die bride," she lowered her eyes, wild triumph flashing through her. She had made it come to pass.
"My very dear." Slowly, with tender fingers, as if she were made of porcelain, he lifted her face to his and kissed her long and tenderly. She kissed him back fiercely, feeling herself on fire.
The sudden rain drove them from their bench and finally, drenched to the skin, they found a taxi.
"You can't go back to your friend's house at this ungodly hour." He frowned. "I'll get you a room in my hotel."
That's what she had been figuring on. "Oh, I could sit in some diner, or in your lobby till eight, and then slink home," she said.
"Out of the question." He gave die driver the address of the Drake, and ten minutes later she was installed in room 630, just across the corridor from him. There was a tender kiss and he vanished. Gad had just taken ofl her soggy coat and ruined beret when the phone rang.
"My darling, breakfast-or rather, lunch whenever you wake up. Call me ... Tell me, am I dreaming, or is it true?" His voice was infinitely tender.
"As true as I'm in room 630," she giggled. "And Jack, I'm too happy to sleep."
"Same here. So, why not come over and keep me company? I promise I shall behave."
"I'll be over in two minutes." She hung up and danced into the badiroom to inspect her face. Her hair didn't look too bad; the dampness had encouraged the curls. Her face was pale and there were purplish shadows beneadi the eyes. But that enhanced their brilliance. She repainted her mouth, washed her hands, and ran the powder puff across her face, deciding she would use his shower-not deciding, leaving it up to the moment whether she would give him more than her company.
Jack received her clad in a black silk robe which made him look like a movie star.
She commented. "If I didn't know Valentino was dead, I would swear I was seeing him. Darling!" She threw herself into his arms. He held her close, his moudi fused to hers. It was an exhausting, fierce, yet tender kiss, their bodies pressed together, his tongue now teasing her palate. Finally he released her and she sank onto the nearest chair.
"Oh Jack, I've never been kissed like that. It's-it's exhausting. But wonderful."
"And I, dear lady, haven't ever kissed any girl like that. You put fire into a man, Gail. I think I'm getting drunk again. And I hope to stay that way." He stared at her rumpled dress. "I advise a hot shower. And, let me see." He went to the closet and emerged with a long box. "I hope you don't find me indelicate for suggesting you put this on ... I bought it as a surprise for Myra but it will look better on you. Go on, look at it."
She took the box, opened it, and removed the white lace negligee from its nest of tissue. "Why Jack it's lovely. Like a bridal gown."
Jack smiled. "It is a gown for a bride, dear. And the bride is just right. Now, go on before you catch a death of cold."
The hot shower pricked her skin; she felt wonderful inside and out. She toweled herself dry and stepped up to the long wall mirror, bowing to her coppery reflection.
"Congratulations, Gail, you're the winner." She lifted her arms and threw back her polished shoulders, squinting at her compact breasts, wishing they were bigger-more like Myra's. But she was more alluring than Myra, alluring enough to have snatched the prize away from her. Her palms fluttered down her slim thighs, knowing he would approve of them. Her legs were as good as Myra's any day. Straight and slim-curved, with trim ankles. And her feet were one-size smaller than Myra's. Critically, she inspected the red-lacquered toe nails. She turned sideways to look at her silhouette. Her buttocks were small but nicely rounded; he would find no fault with diem.
She looked at die foamy gown and frowned. Some-diing was missing. What could it be? Yes, perfume, so necessary to be identified with and be remembered by. Oh for the tiniest bottle of Chanel! But then, a slight scent of Number Five still hovered about her; it would have to do.
The robe fitted her perfectly. It was transparent and through its lacy folds shimmered her suntanned body. I do look like a bride, she thought, but my eyes are too knowing for a blushing one.
She opened the door and stood there, ready to be admired. He turned, bottle in hand; he had been fixing two drinks.
"Don't move. You are a vision." He shook his head. "I must have been blind." Putting down the bottle, he took her in his arms, carried her to the couch and let her down gently. His fingers toyed with her curls. "I am a very lucky man, darling. And I shall do my best to make you happy." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I don't think I want that drink. How about you?"
She shook her head and smiled a slow, tantalizing smile. "This is like a beautiful dream. Oh Jack, don't let me ever wake up."
Her lips met his and through the vaporous gown she felt his hot palm on her back. She had one moment of lucidity, debating whether or not. Then she lay back on the couch permitting him to open the gown. No use denying him, she thought; he was hooked.
He was kneeling by her side, running his hands over her brown, slim planes, eyes drunk with love. "My darling, you are so lovely; it makes me dizzy. Mind if I caress what's to be mine?"
She smiled and the smile was an invitation. He grew bolder. His hands clutched the firm apples and now he bent over her, raining kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, finally finding the red target of the nipple. His moist tongue laved her body and now his dark head came to rest on her flat abdomen.
"Darling, I am worshipping at the altar of beauty-"
She found it wise to delay the sacrifice; he must not diink her easy. Her long lashes hid her eyes and she started breathing rhythmically. It worked. "My darling," she heard him get up, "you're tired." She was lifted up in his arms and carried to the open bed where he deposited her tenderly.
Eyes half-closed, she watched him getting out of the robe, thinking. Yes, he's all man. She compared his lanky virility with her memory of him in the bathroom; there was no difference. Broad shoulders, black knolls of hair shadowing his chest, straight muscular legs and-his flag was up! Suddenly her wise intentions melted beneath die fiery waves that washed over her body. She would let him take her asleep. She would keep her eyes closed and snuggle up to him. And being the man she knew he was, he wouldn't be able to leave her alone ... And in the morning she would be the blushing bride, full of consternation, accepting his apologies for having raped the sleeping beauty....
The light was turned off and she felt his warm, hard body, wondering what he would do about the lovely robe. It would be ruined!
She felt-his hot breath on her face; her eyelids were kissed, then her mouth and her throat. He opened the robe with fumbling fingers. He turned her over gently as if she were a fragile objet d'art. She was crushed to his chest, felt his hotly pulsating body, heard his accelerated breathing and, eyes closed, she tendered her lips. A limp bundle of pulchritude, she offered no resistance.
He tugged at die short sleeve and finally, half turning her, removed the gown. He lifted her lightly and it was pulled from under her. She was lying face down, feeling him breathing down her neck. His tongue, a lash of fire, flicked down her spine and strong fingers were kneading the twin hills of her buttocks. He even kissed the soles of her feet.
She was turned around once more. The weight of his body buried her in the mattress; she found it hard to control her breathing. Gently, his right knee separated her legs and when he knocked at her gate she felt like crying out. But his lips sealed her secret.
Impatient now, he didn't delay. Hot and hard, he broke down die gate and stormed the bastion, moving ahead, retreating, thrusting forward deeper and deeper, faster and faster, taking what was to be his, taking her along with him to the high mountain of ecstasy, making her melt and dissolve, making her forget all scheming. Leaving her sweetly sated, all well-loved, fulfilled woman.
She felt his light kiss on her cheek, heard him walk to the bathroom. One frightening thought made her sit up. She should go to the bathroom. But that would have to be later. During the night. Forgetting about precaution, she fell asleep and never heard him climb into bed, unaware of his whispered "Dar-ling."
CHAPTER FOUR
Gail awoke first; slowly her eyes fluttered open and came to rest on a dark, tousled head. Startled, she shifted position. Who shared her bed? Then she saw the sharp profile denting the pillow and her heart gave an extra beat of relief. Her Jack! She stared at the rhythmically moving, hairy chest. In his sleep he had thrown off the blanket and was now exposed, defenseless, to her stare. She ached to touch the strong-muscled arm, to slide her palms down his thighs. She suppressed a giggle. He didn't resemble the exciting nude in the bathroom of Plymouth Falls now; his virility had collapsed. Shriveled. But, oh, it would return; she would make him swell and glow with frenzied passion.
She slid out of bed and picked up the gown from the floor, slipped into it and padded to the bathroom. She held her face close to the mirror. It didn't show, that she had been ravaged, joyfully taken.
Her face was a shade paler than normal and the eyes seemed larger. She tidied herself and slipped back into bed. He hadn't moved. She snuggled up close and rubbed her cheek against his arm, feeling warm and cozy. Also, playful.
"Hm?" He shook his head, feeling a nibble at his ear lobe. His eyes, deep, sleepy pools, gazed at the expanse of brown-gleaming skin and now lifted to her impish green eyes.
"Darling, my love!" He drew her to him, his finger ruffling her curls. His lips found hers softly inviting; his hands wandered. Now he sat up and she read guilt in his eyes. "You slept so soundly-last night-I ... I forgot myself."
Green eyes searched his face, lashes screened green sparkle. "I had a strange dream, Jack ... And, in my dream you-" Her eyes flicked open, were a question mark. "Or, was it a dream, Jack? Tell me."
He chuckled and his forefinger drew a circle about the incarnate nipple. "No, it was no dream, Gail; it was to me wonderful, thrilling reality. Yes, I confess, I paid myself an advance toward future delights. Do you mind? And I think I want another advance right now."
As he kissed her the conflagration of his body jumped over to hers. His lips were a seal of fire, and her avid hands aware of his readiness, grabbed, feeling hot pulsating life. He was infinitely tender trying to stem the rush of passion to coax her into pleasure, wanting to see her glazed eyes, the tense body ready and poised for flight into ecstasy.
His dark head moved and she felt the bristly chin create goose pimples.
"I don't want to be selfish, you first, always."
And she did-trembling, moaning, body arched, stars rising and falling behind her closed lids. Straining, then relaxing, all moist softness, quivering pleasure-invaded, nerve ends exposed. Soft lapping of his tongue making tender flesh agonize with preamble of wanting. Moistness spilling over, inundating her, burying wanting in red hot lava of fulfillment. Sigh of release, feeling herself floating, soaring to ecstatic new heights of pleasure.
"Love, I want you weak once more. Last night I thought only of myself."
His fingers fluttering spiders on her thighs; his lips moving down her concave abdomen, scorching her back from her cloud, fastening on rose of flesh, coaxing, demanding. Forward, curious tip of tongue tantalizing, a flutter, a forespasm of pleasure, tightening and relaxing of tissue and muscle. Now velvety softness, moving quicksand and, with a moan, the water of life inundating shores not barren any long, er. Her outcry of deepest pleasure, her fingers in his hair, body arched, finally still and sated.
And he, lust-hungry panther going berserk, reaching for his prey, towering over her all threatening tenseness, hands clawing, hungry with wildness and wild with hunger, crushing her softness, pressing, rubbing, shifting, ready to devour. Heat, sweat dripping, lip tasting lip, and her stifled outcry at the charge. Faster and faster, now delaying and secretly expanding. Hardness sheathed in softness, flint to fire. Friction, piston-shoving. And his deep sigh slicing the silence, eruption shattering the secret cave with liquid fire spilling forth, spreading like soothing balm over open wound.
Sealed inside of her, his lips moved over her mouth muttering words of endearment, precious pearls of ecstasy found on secret shore.
Finally he detached himself, leaving her dazed, bathed in euphoria, still and becalmed as one floating down a tranquil river after having weathered the storm.
They had dinner at a small place near the Drake. Over coffee they made plans.
"I really must get back to the office, darling. I suggest we take a plane tonight. It would be more practical to be married in Oakland. If that suits you."
She smiled. "You're my boss, Jack. I leave it all to you-as I do leave myself in your hands." Her tone, sweet and meek, did not betray her thoughts. Was it wise to delay the ceremony? And was it advisable to leave him alone while she went for her luggage? He might get it into his mind to phone Plymouth Falls to let diem know.
He seemed to read part of her thoughts. His forehead creased. "Are you going to call home, Gail? They might be worried. Or, shall I?"
"Oh no, Jack!" I must control my voice, she thought, saying sweetly. "I shall simply write a postcard, saying I am fine, and that I shall have news for them-later. Then, after we're married I shall send a wire. How's that, Jack?"
"Well, I don't know. But I leave it to you, Gail .." He cocked one black brow, inspecting her wrinkled coat and wilted dress. "I guess you'd like to change your dress. And we should get your bag, don't you think?"
There, he'd solved it all. "Let's take a taxi to Mrs. Wilke's. I want you to meet my old friend Louise. She's an artist, a painter, you'll like her."
And to Mrs. Wilke's they drove and while Louise entertained Jack in the parlor, Gail changed into a tailored blue suit and repacked her bag. Everything was going her way. She was elated. Now nothing and nobody could interfere. Have I stupidly, blindly, fallen in love with that man? she wondered, surprised at the happy sparkle of her eyes as she adjusted the blue hat at a jaunty angle. Is he going to boss me for the rest of my days? She shook her head at her reflection. Decidedly not. After the first rapture of sensual knowing had passed and after they were settled in a home she would pick and furnish to suit her taste, she would assert herself, grip the reins and lead him by the nose. And make him like it.
That night, they took Louise out to dinner and celebrated the betrothal. As Louise kissed her tearfully at her door, Gail freed herself from her embrace. Jack was waiting in the cab.
"What's there to cry about, Louise? You're so emotional. Look at me. I am calm and collected and-very pleased."
Louise stared at her as if confronting a stranger.
"Pleased? Is that all? Why, he's a wonderful guy. Crazy about you. And so attractive. However did you do it, Gail? Practically over night he fell for you."
Gail chuckled. "Overnight is right, Louise. I knew what I wanted and went after it. Simple. I used my head-and my body. Yes, it will be a comfortable marriage. And I shall go on using my head."
"Well, I do wish you happiness, Gad. You know, in a way I feel sorry for Jack. Compared to you he is an innocent at heart."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Better wish me luck, that's more important than happiness. And, I shall keep in touch with you. Thanks for-helping me." A quick peck on Louise's cheek and she got back into the cab.
A week later, they were married before a justice of the peace in Oakland and moved into the house he had rented and which Gail found quite suitable. At first. Six months and many battles later, they moved into an apartment hotel, sleekly modern, with lots of glass and plastic. This freed Gail of household worries.
Gail had wired her mother after the wedding.
'As of an hour ago I am Mrs. Jack Michaels and very happy.
Love Gail."
Before sending it off, she showed the wire to Jack, explaining she would write the family in detail later.
"Hm, don't you think I should write them a few lines?"
There was malice in her green eyes. "Do you think it advisable after ... Well, I leave it to your discretion. I'm sure my parents will be glad to know I'm happy; they always thought a lot of you."
Thus, Jack never wrote them, neither did Gail.
Her loving frenzy had lasted two months and had given way to a passive feeling of tolerating Jack's, now milder lovemaking. They went out a lot, more than Jack wanted to, and Gail made some interesting new friends. Like Janice Bailey, a red-headed, lean sculpturess, a girl with an acid sense of humor who had no time for men at all, and said so. And then there was Kent, 'the beatnik,' as Jack called him contemptuously. A dangling, raven-haired youth with flashing black eyes who escorted Gail to galleries, concerts and lectures. Kent was an aspiring concert pianist, but as man cannot live on aspirations alone, he was a member of a jazz band, helping the customers enjoy themselves at a dingy night spot, called the Yellow Tiger. That's where Gail had met him one' night when she and Janice had dropped in for a late drink.
They were sipping their scotch and soda, when the tall bearded youth passed by their table during an intermission.
"Hi Kent, what can be on your mind not seeing me?" called Janice.
The tall man stopped and Gail was startled by the bony face with a hawk nose and fiery eyes.
"Hello Janice, I thought you had given up slumming." His curious eyes ran over Gail's smart appearance, fastened on her green eyes. "Who's your friend?"
"Gail, meet an impossible character, Kent Miles. Kent boy, this is Gail Michaels, society matron and artist."
"Mind if I park for a minute?" He was already doing so, eyeing Gail unabashed. "You have an interesting bone structure, Mrs. Michaels. And I read revolt in your eyes."
When he left their table to resume his playing Gail had invited him for cocktails at her house, wondering what had made her do it, knowing he was a type Jack detested.
Coming home after a tiring day at the office, Jack found them in the den. Gail, sketching pad on her knees, was doing Kent's portrait.
"Hello Gad." As he bent down to kiss her cheek he glanced at the charcoal sketch. "Hm, rather a good likeness." Coolly, he gazed at the young man's beard.
"Oh Jack, this is Kent Miles, friend of Janice, and now also my friend. He's going to be a concert pianist."
The two men were shaking hands, Jack's eyes sizing up the youth critically. "Well, always nice to meet a budding artist." His tone was disdainful.
Kent took his hurried departure and husband and wife faced each other.
"Gail, for Heaven's sake, what kind of animal is this? Beatniks it's now. Really, at times I find it difficult to understand you."
"You must try harder," she spat at him. "Now, please, don't lecture me. He's a harmless young man. Go and wash up, we're having dinner with the Mercers."
"Not again? I'm bushed and we have been out for the last three nights. Call up and tell them-oh anything."
But she had gone on to the Mercers' without him as she went many places now. The gulf between them was widening. She liked Kent Miles and made no bones about it. She saw him almost daily-at her home and elsewhere. So far, there had been only kisses, but she knew there would be more. Kent's compressed fire, his youth and his unorthodox wildness appealed to Gail who was tired of Jack's mild lovemaking. Jack she owned, but Kent, difficult and rebellious, was a challenge.
She knew all hell would break loose but she did it for the heck of it, to assert her independence. She went out and bought a baby grand, having talked it all out with Kent, that he would give her piano lessons.
And now the piano, black and shiny, was cluttering up the living room and she was expecting Jack, ready to brave the storm, knowing that the bill for it had been received at his office. The fight had started when he called her an hour ago, and it would really begin raging when he confronted her....
CHAPTER FIVE
He burst into the den where she was reclining on the couch, recently converted into a bed. Standing over her, he wrested the evening paper from her hands. He looks ugly, like a mean devil, she thought, staring calmly into his furious eyes.
"You and I are going to have a talk. And, you better listen."
"Yes dear," she said with mock humility, her eyes sparkling with malice. "But hadn't you better sit down and be comfortable. After all, you 're always tired when you get home from the office."
"Don't you tell me what to do. I prefer to stand." He was breathing hard, his face flushed.
He looks positively repulsive, she thought, noticing his slight paunch. "Darling, you better watch your calories. Tummy's showing," she quipped.
"Never mind, it's my stomach." He now chose to sit down at the foot of the couch. "Who do you think you're going to be? Brahms?" he thundered. "Now, I admit you have a nice little talent for portraits and I have never told you not to pursue that talent. But it's news to me I have a Liszt in the family. So, kindly explain the piano?" He was perspiring and whipped out his handkerchief, to mop his brow. "Do you intend to regale your arty friends with musicales?" He was talking himself into a frenzy and his usually well-modulated voice rose to an ugly falsetto. "That piano goes back where it came from. In the morning."
"Calm yourself, Jack, excitement is bad for your heart."
"If you cared for my heart-or for my health and comfort you wouldn't constantly aggravate me ... Oh, how you have changed from the sweet, compliant girl I married. We live in a glass cage which I hate. You choose friends who are objectionable. We go out practically every night-or entertain in some plush eatery because my wife doesn't care to spend time in the kitchen ... You don't even act like a wife...."
She waited, calmly braving his furious glare.
"Through accusing me? Did it ever occur to you that you haven't lived up either to my idea of a husband? Your head and heart is left at the office, you get home tired and beat, with an insufferable humor. After all I need some outlet, a little attention...."
"Which undoubtedly you are getting from that beatnik," he grumbled. "But this time I'm putting my foot down. That piano's got to go."
"Sorry, but you're wrong. And if you refuse to pay for it-I'll do so. From my allowance."
"Well then I'll just have to cut your allowance," he fumbled, trying to light his cigar.
"I wouldn't advise it, that would force me to go out and get a job. It would certainly hurt your standing." He winced and she knew she had him there, vain as he was.
She stretched her slim arms and the peignoir came open exposing her firm girl-breasts. He stared at the revealed Diana body and his tone softened.
"Really, it's so foolish, our biting at each other. Now if you would just see things my way, Gad." His hand reached and he helped himself to one apple. "I do adore you and in spite of your foolishness my feelings for you have never changed. Just say that you'll be reasonable about that instrument and we'll forget our quarrels." He leaned over and sought her lips.
She kissed him lightly. "I hate bickering, Jack. I want to enjoy life ... Let's try to get along." She ran her fingers through his hair. "And, you'll let me keep the piano?" Her voice was smooth but her eyes were wary.
He arose. "What in the world do you-do we-need a piano, Gad, you tell me?"
"Oh, I always wanted to learn how to play. And Kent promised to teach me. So you see, I'll get free instruction."
He towered over her, his mouth open. "That's the limit. Having that ill-mannered bore around at all hours. Or," he bent down and scowled at her impassive face, "maybe you don't find him a bore, maybe he fascinates you ... Tell me," he seized her wrists, yanking at diem, "has he made progress with you? Is that where your passion has flown to? Is his youth so exhausting that you spend your nights here in the den, safe from my lovemaking-to rest up from your bouts with that uncouth athlete?"
She freed her wrists and managed a slow smile. "If you must know, your snoring keeps me awake. Also, you're hardly ever in the mood for dalliance ... Kent Miles means nothing to me-but he helps to pass the time."
He glared at her, went into the adjoining room and returned with a drink. She watched him gulp it down.
"Darling, don't I rate a drink?"
"You mix your own," he said with venom. "You may find my brand too weak."
Slowly she arose and waltzed to the bar coming back with the half-filled glass. "Darling, really, we're quarreling over nothing." She took a sip and put the glass down on the table. "I find you most attractive when you let yourself go-my wild man!" She threw her arms about his neck and covered his face with light, fluttering kisses, pressing her slim body against him, feeling his tautness. His eyes were one shade darker as his arms encircled her waist.
"No more foolishness," he said, "promise you'll behave."
She traced one rugged eyebrow with her forefinger and smiled. It was even easier than she had expected. She didn't say one word but allowed him to carry her to the couch. He tore the robe open and silently she watched him take his clothes off. Now he did resemble the man in the bathroom of Plymouth Falls, poised for action. But there was the slightly protruding belly she hated.
In fact, she hated his flabby, sweating body crushing her cool limbs, his fumbling, his final sheepish excuse as the assault came to naught and his forces crumbled.
"I guess I'm just too tired. Perhaps another drink-"
But now she wanted him, was bent on pursuit, willing to help arouse his passion, perversely insisting on consummation. "I'll make you hot, darling, you just lie back and let me-get you there."
She let herself go, a cave woman on the rampage, throwing herself over his heavy body, rubbing her hard nipples against his hairy chest, hands clawing. She bathed his entire body with her tongue, starting at the ears, leaving traces of fire.
"Shrivelled little bush, needs moistness."
Her hands brought new life to the sagging body. Eagerly she listened to his accelerated breathing, saw the glazed look creep into the dark eyes, and exulted.
"See, a soldier at attention, ready to do battle."
He wanted to move over her to do his marital duty but her hands held him down.
"No, don't move. Let me-do it all."
And now she had no time for words. Under her artful titillations he moaned and strained, his body arched convulsively.
"Faster," he moaned, ready, sighing for release. She detached herself and walked away to pick up her drink and drain it, her green eyes full of malice. "Gail, what are you doing? Don't leave me that way."
She stood at the bed looking down at his tautness. Her voice was detached. "Now you know how I feel when you climb into bed and start snoring," she said.
"Gail, please, don't leave me now. And I'm sorry-about-being neglectful ... Gail...."
"Well," lightly, tenderly, she was stroking him, "promise no more bickering."
"I promise...." His face was tortured, a tight mask.
"And I can keep the piano-no stupid jealousy." She was exultant, she had him at her mercy.
"Anything Gail, just don't keep me up in the air."
She resumed the started task. Her movements were mechanical. She felt nothing, she was doing a job, soothing him, making him more malleable for future projects.
"Ouch, careful," he mumbled.
She dug in, wanting to hurt him, hating him who so easily gave in to all of her whims, hating herself for being slave, catering to his needs when he didn't hold any appeal for her any longer. He's middle-aged, flabby, used up, she thought. He has no passion unless I provide it for him. The idea of being possessed by him was repulsive to her. She needed freshness, youth....
She struggled with his uncertain passion, getting tired, wanting to heap abuse on him. "What's the matter with you? All worn out?" She stopped her ministrations knowing he was about ready."
"Please Gad, please, don't stop."
"Well, all right, but I can't wear myself out." She watched his face grow tense and pale, a spasm shook his limbs. He let go of a deep sigh and finally, painfully, he surrendered.
She walked away and lit a cigaret, disgusted with the entire proceedings. She wanted to get out of his loathsome presence. But shrewdness made her act differently. She bent over his still figure, pecking his cheek. "Feeling better?" she asked.
He drew her down over him, whispering. "Sorry to be such a nuisance, darling. You're wonderful." His arms went about her waist, flattening her down by his side. His wet, slobbering kisses nauseated her. His hand moved down, exploring. His lips found her breast.
"I'll make you feel good, sweet," he breathed into her ear. "I don't want to be selfish."
She pushed him off and arose. "You need some rest. Besides, after the job of getting you there I'm not in the mood any more."
She sat down and smoked a cigaret, glad he didn't insist to satisfy her-she knew where she would find instant joy and relief whenever it suited her.
As she came out of the bathroom he was sitting up; his face bore a critical expression. His law-face, she thought. Now that he's had his pleasure he'll act up.
His voice was nasty. "So you're saving it all for him, that beatnik," he said. "You don't fool me for a minute, Gail. Oh I know you made me promise that you can keep the piano-which I suppose included keeping your beatnik. Well," his tone was coldly sarcastic, "you and I we know what such a promise amounts to-sexual blackmail."
"Stop making with the big words, Jack. I tried-and I finally succeeded-to please you. And that's the thanks I get."
She was at the door when his voice stopped her. "Are we staying home tonight? Or, what have you arranged? Some stupid bridge, or going to some smelly night club?"
"I had intended to fix us a little supper at home but seeing you're nasty I won't bother."
"I'm sorry, Gail. And I would appreciate eating dinner at home. And afterwards we can watch TV. I have a heavy day tomorrow. So, if you will-"
"Okay," her tone was that of the queen to her slave. "I'll see what I can find in the refrigerator. Will an omelette do?"
"That will do fine."
The piano, of course, remained, and the following afternoon when Kent Miles dropped in at three, she led him proudly to the black-gleaming instrument.
He looked at her grinning face and from there his black eyes remained glued to the piano. He walked up, opened it and ran his thumb over the keys. "What's this addition? Don't tell me you have suddenly become interested in music?"
"Oh but I have," she giggled. "I'm going to learn how to play-with the best instructor-you!"
He frowned and shook his bearded head. "Now I've heard everything. Me, a piano teacher? You loco, or something?" He walked up to her and lifted her chin. "Give, what are you up to?"
"Oh, she smiled into his fiery eyes, "I thought you needed a decent instrument to practice on. But of course Jack agrees I should take up piano."
His eyes were shrewd. "You mean you talked him into it. Well, I hand it to you, you know how to put things over." He grabbed her hands and scowled. "But not on me, Gad, you're not putting anything over on me, Gail, understand? I don't like to be trapped-I'm a free-wheeler. Here today, gone tomorrow. So," his eyes were compelling and she trembled, "if I used this piano to practice on I want to know you're not buying me. That clear?"
"Of course, Kent."
But I am, buying you, she thought, submitting to his cruel lips as he crushed her in his arms. You, like that piano, are an instrument-there to give pleasure to me. And when you're not exciting any longer you will be made to leave.
She freed herself. "And now, how about a little concert, Kent. Yes, play something passionate and forceful, a fitting prelude for things to come."
She watched his agile fingers torment the keys, standing close behind him, breathing in his particular man smell, getting intoxicated not by the Appassionata but by her own feelings of lust, knowing that he would match the music in frenzy and untamed passion....
CHAPTER SIX
Eyes closed, Myra Harris listened to the drone of the propellers. She found it difficult to relax and put her galloping thoughts into chronological order. She could not stem the tide of excitement, still surprised and awed at her sudden skyrocketing success. In a matter of a few hours she would step off the plane in Los Angeles to be surrounded by a swarm of hungry news hounds, to be swept out of their orbit by the publicity man from Lance Studios who was-so said the telegram in her purse-to meet her plane.
Once more she marveled how all this could have happened to her, the quiet introvert little Miss Nobody from nowhere. Was this a reward from fate, a gift from the gods bestowed upon her to compensate for the deep disappointment, the wound, still raw, she tried to hide even from herself? Funny that this very hurt that had festered and seared her insides, the branding pain she could never talk about, had forced her to put it all down on paper. That story of her love for Jack and the strange manner in which he had dropped out of her life, ending up as her sister's prize-a story solved In her novel by her tortured imagination-now made her famous.
She recalled her indecision before mailing the manuscript off to the New York publisher; never would she have done so without die urging of Meta Meyers, her old English teacher.
"Why Myra, this is a really exciting story. Psychologically well grounded. Your plot is interesting, your characters sharp. And the motif of hate is carried all the way through-to its logical conclusion ... Got your title?"
"I kind of fancy Seed of Hate for a possible title." Her violet eyes probed the older woman's withered face. Meta Meyers approved. "Sounds exciting. Seed of Hate. Go ahead, use it. And, as a pen name-" she screwed up her eyes-"Myra's okay, many Myras in this world ... Hm," she closed her eyes better to concentrate. "Alliteration always sounds better. Yes, Myra Manners I do like. Sounds dignified."
Thus the manuscript had been dispatched with Myra's title and the pen name of Myra Manners. And Myra had almost forgotten her artistic catharsis having other worries to contend with. Her father who had been in poor health for years suddenly died from heart failure and Myra had to stand by her mother, an utterly helpless and incompetent woman.
"We should contact Gail," urged her mother. "Maybe she could come to the funeral."
It was Myra who went through her mother's old letters and unearthed Gail's only letter, written over a year ago. And it was Myra who sent the wire to the Oakland address. As Myra had anticipated, two days later, a short wire of condolence arrived from Oakland, signed Mrs. Jack Michaels.
"Of course Gail couldn't make it to the funeral," sighed her mother, "but it wouldn't have hurt her to say more."
Myra didn't answer, wondering, picturing it all in her mind-her sister Gail and her husband, Jack Michaels arriving in Plymouth Falls. Gail, self-assured, oozing happiness ... And Jack-would he seek her out and try and explain-what she never had been able to explain to herself-his sudden rejection of her, Myra. Well, she concluded, the only explanation I shall ever get is the one I gave in my story ... Somehow, some way, Gail had appropriated Jack in her underhanded way, and she, Myra, would never know any truth save the one she had invented and put down on paper.
The first few months Myra had been tormented, asking herself where she had fallen short. Yes, it had been childish to insist on an elaborate wedding ... but was that reason enough for Jack to reject her entirely? Her pride rebelled, she wanted to force an explanation from him. She composed a dozen letters, then tore them up. What was the use? She would cut a ridiculous figure and she didn't even know where to send a letter. Gail, in her shrewdness, had cut all communication, most likely exulting at the thought of Myra's defeat.
The first weeks after Gail's marriage to Jack were dreary ones for Myra who broke off all social contacts feeling herself the laughing stock of the town. She was glad to be buried in the library and went straight home from work, spending her evenings reading or watching TV. Meta Meyers, her old teacher, came to call.
"Really Myra, it's absurd to remain closeted like this. Folks have forgotten about you and Jack. Fact is, by keeping shut in you give them ground for talking."
It was Meta who had taken her to the party at Mrs. Bell's where, at first, Myra had sat in a corner watching the others have fun. She was nursing her punch, watching them dance on the terrace, when a deep voice startled her.
"I don't know who you've been watching all evening," said the tall blond man with the brush moustache she'd never seen before, "but I've been watching you all evening. Mind if I sit down?" He pulled up a chair and was now facing her.
She had to say something. Looking up into his ruddy, good-natured face, she forced a smile. "I don't mind at all. I like to observe people," she explained. "And then I try to imagine what they're really like-I mean, when they're alone and not showing their party-face." Saying this she was startled how near it came to the truth.
"Ah," as he smiled now his blue eyes lit up, "a budding writer. And, tell me, what would you guess was my profession?"
"You," she frowned with concentration, "look to me like an athlete. Yes, a football coach maybe."
His laughter boomed. "You're way off. No, my job is quite prosaic. I work in the post office. Just got transferred here from Des Moines. It seems like a come-down, and although I've been invited all over town I found things very dull. But as of now I have hopes."
She arched her brows.
"Yes, now things are looking up. Now that I'm talking to the prettiest girl in town."
He had insisted on taking her home. He was a stranger and didn't know she had been jilted, thus she felt no inferiority complex with him. They dated twice a week. Myra had grown to like the young man who had a fine sense of humor and was a voracious reader. He wasn't exciting like Jack had been, but his company was soothing. Listening to his amusing chatter, feeling his admiring glances, she started to be her old happy self again.
But at night with the lights out, under her covers, she brooded. Having started to write down all about her deep hurt, she re-lived her hours with Jack. Why doesn't the hurt go away? she wondered. After all, Jack had never seriously damaged her; she felt almost sorry now for having guarded her virginity so carefully. Maybe if she had given in that certain night after the dance, he would be hers now. If he had insisted ... She recalled the scene clearly.
Two o'clock in the morning, with the full moon bathing the quiet countryside in unearthly clarity, with each tree boldly etched against the night sky. He had stopped the car under a large oak tree and had taken her in his arms. She recalled the wild, unruly look in his dark eyes, his hands that had found her full breasts beneath the filmy gown. And his voice, oddly strained.
"Myra, I want you so much it hurts." His fierce sucking lips had kindled the fire in her, and for one moment she had responded, seeking his embrace, allowing him to lift the snowy balls out of the decollette, fondling them. He had gorged himself on them, making them bounce right there in the car.
Myra had felt dizzy, completely overwhelmed by her own hot flooding passion. His hand grew bold, stole beneath the dress, tantalizing her, making her tremble and glow. Then he took her hand, kissed it and guided it to his tautness.
"See what you do to me? I can't sleep for wanting you-all of you. Myra, why wait? This night will never come back, will be lost to us. Come on, I know a place where we can be alone."
She had sat there paralyzed, while he was driving like mad, finally stopping in front of the Blue Heron Motel. His arms went about her. She could still taste his moist, slobbering kiss. He will let himself go, she thought, his hot, sweaty body will top mine ... She would be defiled. She pushed him away and sat up straight.
"Let's wait until we're married. It won't be long. And," her eyes implored, "then it will be right."
His face had hardened. He frowned into the night. "You and your well-bred, prissy ways," he spat at her. "Sometimes I wonder...."He had driven her home and they had made up and kissed.
Yes, that's when I lost him, she decided, by refusing, holding back my own urge. Well, she wouldn't make that mistake again with Earl Bender. By pleasing him she would also please herself, she admitted. For, Earl's slow gourmet kisses did strange things to her equilibrium. She wanted to be plucked and devoured; her body was overflowing with sap; she was ripe fruit ready for picking.
I've lost a lost of precious time, she told herself, standing before her bathroom mirror that sultry summer evening, watching her white-curved body. She clutched her full breasts delighting in their elastic resilience, making them bounce. Earl would like them. Her hands trailed down her satiny hips, feeling the soft flesh. She patted her slightly mounded abdomen, inspected her long slim legs. I have a body made for love, she thought, and the thought made her dizzy with anticipation. She felt the blood race through her body, watched the sparkle of her eyes, now almost black.
She dressed with utmost care for her date with Earl; he was taking her to dinner at a roadhouse, five miles out of town. And after that, she decided, she didn't care where he would take her.
I feel reckless, lustful and desirable, she told her appearance in the mirror. The low-cut blue summer frock moulded her figure lovingly; the spidery gauze "accentuated the rondure of her breasts. High-heeled blue slippers enhanced the trimness of her ankles. Her silver-blonde hair framed the pure oval of her pale face in which the eyes looked like twin violets.
She felt exhilarated, gay and full of wanting, eager for his admiration.
He didn't withold it. As she sauntered into the living room, he jumped up from his chair and stood there wide-eyed, staring at her.
"Myra, you look adorable. A breath of spring. Fragile, delightfully delicate, and yet so womanly."
He kissed her right there in the living room and she didn't mind at all. She kissed him back and pressed herself against him, abandoning with her lips her whole person.
Abruptly, he released her. "You make me dizzy, Myra. Drunk with love. I'm hungry for you."
"And I," she smiled into his blue eyes," am simply hungry for food."
But she had only picked at her dinner. He had refilled her wine glass many times so that now she felt in high spirits, light-headed, yet full of bubbling excitement.
He hadn't asked, had taken it for granted that she was ready to be loved. She had followed him into cabin five of that same motel where Jack had once intended to initiate her. She heard him close and lock the door, staring at the wide open bed, not afraid, knowing she would leave this room, this bed, a knowing, loved woman-one who had given all and was glad about it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Looking back now, reliving the moment, she knew it had been a disappointment. Even then, as she watched him bend over her, ready and waiting for the big, earth-shaking moment that would tear the veil of innocence and make her a woman, she had suddenly sobered, feeling repelled by his rosy whiteness. Jack, she thought, had a pale-brown skin, one loved by the sun. She would hold the thought throughout; that way she could imagine it to be Jack who opened up the realm of the senses to her. His dark eyes she would see, burning with desire.
She met the assault, eyes closed, feeling his hard young body pressing her down into the darkness. His lips were careful and tender, covering her face and throat with kisses that raised goose pimples on her skin. She felt his fingers combing through her hair.
"It's like corn-silk," he muttered, "spun of sun rays."
The warmth of his body ignited her own and his caresses told her he was experienced. Her breasts felt like bursting and she shivered as his tongue traced circles on the tender globes. Her hands ran over his smooth cap of hair-for to please her he had abandoned the brush cut-and dug into his shoulders.
"Darling, open your eyes, you seem so far away," he breathed into her ear.
But that she would not do. She kissed his lips and felt excitement clouding thought as his hot tongue entered her palate. Her legs tensed; she felt like a violin string ready to meet the bow so that a timeless melody could be extracted by the fiddler who knew how to play his instrument.
His lips wandered about her body, moistening mounds and valleys, coming to rest on her midriff. She felt a curious finger probing, heard his choked outcry. "My darling, tell me I'm the first, that it is I...."He shivered, his voice was threaded with humility.
She caressed his cheeks, never saying one word, not wanting to break the spell. Hoping it would forever abolish the picture of Jack.
"I do love you dear, and I shall be gentle."
She wanted to yell at him: Be brutal, crush me, invade me powerfully. Her hands sought his tautness, trying to foretaste the powerful thrust. She wanted to be raped, wanted to faint away in the act.
He forced her legs apart and moved in for the kill.
His hands held her down and now she cried out feeling a searing, unbearable stab of pain as he pierced the veil and infiltrated her. She bit her lips feeling each piston shove like a fiery knife. She cried softly as he moved on, seeking release. Now the pain subsided as soft balm moistened her in-sides and he lay still, his head on her shoulder.
Slowly he detached himself, his worried eyes scanning her face. Her eyes were open now, she smiled wanly.
"Dearest! I am a selfish brute. And I know I hurt you. When I want so much to make you happy!" He kissed her tenderly and held her close, stroking her hair. "My baby, mine!"
And in the bathroom, washing away his traces, she thought, not yours, never. The first time a girl should give herself for love-well, she had given herself to know about love. There was the difference. It had "been painful and she was glad it was over with. She had wasted herself on a man she didn't love enough. It served her right. Then she thought, that whole sex business is really not much, or, maybe Jack guessed right and I'm a frigid woman. Yes, that's why Gail had landed him-she had fire.
But the second time she felt no pain, only stark, sweetly disturbing, uprooting pleasure; she was carried away by his wildness, her body arching to receive him. Anticipating tingling ecstasy, wallowing in hot moistness, straining, aching toward fulfillment. She led the way, egged him on, bruised his skin with sucking marks. She dug her teeth into his lower lip till she drew blood, exulted at his fierce assault, yielding herself to the wave of sensuality that spilled over her, engulfing her. Her blood roared; her head felt light. Her skin was a burning gown searing him. This time, she was all feeling, moving along with him, carried away by his rhythm, accelerating his thrust, moving beneath him. Possessed, filled and annihilated by his strength that dissolved her weakness. This time, she shared his pleasure, trembling in lost ecstasy, soaring to the highest pinnacle and remaining there suspended, floating on a cloud of blissful nirvana.
"You," his trembling hands touched her pale cheek, "you were with me all the way. You're mine!"
As she offered her lips she believed she loved him.
But later, in the privacy of her room, she knew he was good for her; he gave her peace. And joyfully she remembered every moment of his second taking, now knowing that a passionate woman had emerged from the frigid cocoon of a girl she had been too long. Yes, she wanted more of this heady drink of passion, wanted to lose herself, surrender her body, stop all thought and drown in the flood of desire. His adoration, the agony of desire she had caused in him, was to her needed medicine. Her heart had nothing to do with it.
Two weeks later, they became engaged. Her mother approved of Earl; he was gentle-mannered, soft-spoken and deferential to her.
"I hope you don't want a mansion and a Cadillac, darling." He was holding her hand as Mrs. Harris had left them alone after dinner. "Would you mind waiting till next fall?" His eyes were worried. "I get a promotion then and you wouldn't have to keep on with your job."
Marriage was the furthest thing from her mind; things suited her as they were. Seeing Earl every night for a few hectic hours of lovemaking was fine. But having to face him every morning at breakfast seemed a distasteful thought.
"But I like my job, Earl," her voice was light. "And it's better not to rush into-things. Besides, you might change your mind."
"Never," swore Earl, taking her in his arms. "You are what I want. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you."
Earl's lovemaking suited her fine; not a novice in the ars amoris, he taught her the more intricate nuances, using his educated tongue, letting her reciprocate the favor. Virile to the utmost, he knew how to prolong and delay the tantalizing agony, making fulfillment all the more shattering and complete.
She had about made up her mind that Earl was what she wanted in a husband, when the letter came that changed her entire life. She had found it on the hall table returning from work. As was her habit with all of her mail, she carried it to the privacy of her room, her eyes on the crisp, long envelope. Her eyes grew round as she read the black, embossed name in the left-hand corner, Forum Publishers. Well, a rejection slip, no doubt, and the manuscript would follow later. She tore the envelope open and her shaking hands lifted the letter to her eyes. 'Dear Miss Manners: We have read your manuscript 'Seed of Hate' with interest and are herewith offering you contract.'
She didn't read the rest then. Eyes closed, she tasted her moment of triumph. She was, as of now, an author. Someone, someone who knew, had found her story interesting enough to be printed. And right then she knew, although this was her first book, it would not be her last. She felt many stories stirring to life, clamoring to be put down, black on white. She was a girl with a future!
She ran out of the house to tell Meta Meyers her glad tidings.
Meta seemed not overly surprised. "I know a good story when I read one," she stated, perusing the letter. "Say, they want you in New York-for some editorial changes ... And of course you must go."
Her mother was shocked by the news. "You mean, you wrote a book and people want to publish it, pay you for it?"
"Yes Mother," Myra kissed the withered cheek. "And I'm leaving for New York next week."
Earl's reaction surprised her. "So now you're the famous author. I know it will all go to your head and alienate you from poor, insignificant me."
Knowing he already belonged to a dead past, she felt generous and assured him that this changed nothing in their plans.
"And you'll have your wife working at home, darling. Making money to buy that Cadillac."
"I get along nicely with my Ford," he said, his mouth a tight line.
Her ardent lovemaking that night proved to him that nothing was changed in their plans.
Myra returned from New York a changed woman. Her success had gone to her head; she had been feted, wined and dined, and had added anew human interest to her life-Sid Graham, the well known columnist had had no trouble at all getting into her bed. Interestingly ugly, lean and red-headed, his sardonic wit had tempted and taunted, and she accepted him as an extra earned bonus of pleasure. Knowing this was a one night affair, hoping they would remain friends.
Her exterior marked the inward change of personality. She wore her hair in a short, wispy Italian bob, plastered to her skull; purple eye shadow enhanced the splendor of her eyes. With her new wardrobe and all-over sleekness, Plymouth Falls seemed too small for her. She wanted out. Earl's lovemaking was without zest, and he himself seemed colorless, no one she wanted to tie her future to. But so far she let him believe that he still was number one; she craved adulation and got it from him.
Two months later, Lance Studios bought the book for a large sum, and then she was ordered out to Hollywood to assist with the adaptation of the screen play.
Success was hers; the world was at her feet.
She was feverishly agitated, happy in a hectic way, full of plans, promising her stunned mother she would send for her once she, Myra, was settled out there.
She tried to avoid all talk about the future with Earl who seemed sad and morose these days, clinging to her like a drowning man. Although they were still engaged, they both carefully refrained from setting a date for the wedding.
What a fool she had been to use a pen name-her picture was on the back cover and anyone who knew her could identify the author at once. Myra wondered whether Jack would see the book in a window, buy it, and read about her exposed love. Los Angeles was not too far from Oakland, and it was very possible his business would take Jack there. And how would Gail feel reading the book, seeing herself exposed as the shrew she was, pictured even worse, as a woman who didn't stop at murder....
"Fasten your seat belts, please." The voice of the pretty stewardess jolted her back to the present. She opened her eyes and looked through the porthole, saw the large flat airfield and the gleaming hangar at the end. They were descending, the plane jolted and rocked; now they hit the ground and rolled slowly along, finally coming to a stop.
Myra unfastened the seat belt, picked up her red leather bag and put on her white gloves. She was ready for the press.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stop that darned jazz, Kent, my ears are bursting." Gail seized Kent's right wrist and yanked the hand off the key board.
Kent Miles rotated on the piano stool, facing her. "Oh, you just wanted a chance to hold my wrist." His left hand stroked the strawy mat of his beard as he leered into her eyes.
"If that isn't a stupid remark...." But in a way it's true she acknowledged to herself. She had been fascinated watching his strong fingers pounding the keyboard-wishing her body was the keyboard. "Now, how about teaching me?" she asked, frowning at the beard she had never touched.
"You are too eager, you're used to leading the chase. It ruins things-for me, at least. You just wait till I'm good and ready to tumble you."
She felt the flush rise to her cheeks. "This must be your day to act abominable. Do you realize that in the two weeks this piano stands here you've hogged it, using it for your own practicing?"
"Well, isn't that what it was intended for? That-and to keep me at hand." His eyes were shrewd; her anger told him he was right.
"All you taught me is two idiotic pieces, and I still play Rustle of Spring badly."
"You always will," he stated, getting up. "And you know you don't really give a hang-about playing well."
"You seem to know more about myself than I do." She walked to the low table and poured herself a stiff drink from the decanter. Straight, as she had been doing of late.
Kent walked up and took the glass from her hand. "You drink too much, Gail. It won't calm your nerves. I know a better way." He stood quite close and she had to inhale the sweetish scent of his hair pomade.
"Yes, what?"
"This." He took her in his arms and held her close, hypnotizing her with those mocking eyes that never revealed his thoughts. His open mouth came down on hers, making a tent, and he exhaled his hot breath. Her own lips opened and she stuck her tongue into his mouth, shivering with sudden excitement. His hands ran up and down her back as if testing her spine. She felt paralyzed, like a plant clinging to the bark of a tree needing its life-giving sap.
As he rubbed one leg against her thigh she felt his tautness. Her hands came up and she pulled at the beard, finding the wiry hair unbearably exciting.
Now she closed her eyes as his big wet tongue laved over her face. She thought of a Saint Bernard once owned by a neighbor in Plymouth Falls who had been devoted to her; its tongue had caused the same melting feeling in her. As he let go of her abruptly she tumbled against a chair. A sardonic glint crept into his eyes.
"As I see, you're ready. So, take off that dress. Or, is that dress shielding your skinniness?"
She was outraged. "I'm not skinny, just slender," she said', unzipping the skirt. Under his stare she took off the dress, laid it over the back of a chair, and now faced him in lilac-colored, spidery panties through which the brown skin showed. She had been dispensing with wearing a bra for his sake-wanting him to know her breasts were firm and needed no support.
"So they're really as I thought diem to be," he commented and came close, rubbing the dark red nipples against the back of his palms. As he bent low, lips replacing hands, she trembled, feeling his long tongue working them over. His hands yanked at the elastic of her panties and they slithered down her hips, landing at her feet. "Step out of them," he ordered, and as she obeyed he picked them up and held them to his cheek. "Panties are so exciting, the whole woman is hidden there. They carry your effluvia."
He dropped them on top of her dress and now, took her trembling slimness into his arms kissing her long and hard, tenderly and brutally, finally leading her to the wide couch. She lay back watching him undress. No wonder he was proud-he had something to be proud about. Everything about him was big. His skin was of a pale olive, his legs were muscular. There was no hair on his chest.
He came over to the couch and stood there, grinning down at her. "I need a little coaxing-to get in the mood," he said.
But you are in the mood she felt like saying looking at his tenseness. She sat up, her hands tracing the outline of his lean flanks, now becoming more aggressive.
"I once had a French girl-she knew how. I doubt you're as good as her," he taunted.
She knew she was better ... His hands dug into her shoulders, now moving over her breasts, clutching resilient flesh. He panted and his movements became convulsive.
"Stop."
She closed her eyes, feeling faint. At a fevor pitch of excitement. Exasperated with wanting him for all this time. Wondering, uncertain whether he would finally perform. Every nerve in her body tingled attuned to every fiber of his.
His crazy laughter made her open her eyes.
"You should see your face, lust, greed personified. You-you're a hot bitch and you're going to get it."
He threw himself down over her, crushing her fine bones, flattening swell of breasts, making her cry out in ecstatic pain and lust. She felt like a thing, a toy broken in two. He breathed hard, moved, making her gasp in sudden fright. She trembled, knowing he could break her in two, ruin her forever. She had no feel of her body, knew only that she was throbbingly alive.
His passion didn't allow for speech. In silent deadly concentration he started. Then accelerating the rhythm, moving evenly as if he were playing an etude, strictly observing and executing the tempo.
"Now," he said, and she shivered as he outdistanced himself, tearing down all barriers, relenting the delayed torture and letting go, giving her his all, emptying his strength into her waiting weakness.
Later, when they both were decent again, he allowed her to fix him a drink. "Now, don't think of me as your Hercules, your pleasure boy, Gail. I hope you liked it, and I know you needed it. But don't expect a performance every day. Remember, I do the chasing."
She felt like slapping him down, telling him to keep away. But she kept silent. It had been too wonderful and she didn't want him away. She needed him as she never had thought she'd need a man before.
That evening when Jack came home she was surprisingly amiable. Supper was ready and she fixed his drink before they Sat down to eat.
He was startled at the change, glad about it.
"Why Gail, how nice. Dinner at home with my wife." He kissed her cheek, seeking her mouth.
She drew away. "You just sit here and I'll bring in the food; it will get spoiled."
As he ate the chicken she watched this husband of hers as if he were a complete stranger. Why did I ever bother taking him away from Myra? The thought surprised her. There's nothing extra about him. He's a nice, middle-aged man, efficient in his work, one who delights in his comfort.
"How would you like to go to Los Angeles with me? I have an important case there. And you'll be part of my expense account. One whole week, the best places ... Hollywood...."
"When do you have to be there?" she asked, knowing that if things remained as they were now with Kent he'd go alone.
"Oh, in a matter of two weeks," he scanned her face. "I thought you'd like a change, Gail. You don't seem enthusiastic."
"But I am, darling. It sounds wonderful. Only, let me know a little ahead so I can get my wardrobe in shape."
"Just remember, a new wardrobe is not on the expense account." But he said it amiably as if expecting her to splurge.
Gail's compliance extended even to the boudoir. Jack felt animated, the nice dinner and his wife's pleasantness, rather a novelty, made him full of desire.
"Darling, it's been a long time, too long." He helped himself to her breasts, fondling them.
Why am I doing this? she wondered, permitting his hand to stray. And then she knew. It was a diabolical urge to compare notes, and also, most important, not to allow that unpredictable youth Kent to get too much of a hold over her. Thus, when she came to him, appeased by her husband's lovemaking, or rather she admitted to herself, less hungry for her lover, she could keep him under control. Thus she would be the one to dictate. Yes, that seemed the right way. Now that Kent thought he could have her as and when it suited him, she would surprise him. Show him she could do without his services....
Jack tried hard to please her but his fumbling caresses hardly aroused her. Finally she made him do to her what she knew he disliked. Some remnant of puritanical instinct, she surmised.
"What's the matter, Gail? You're like an iceberg. Not very encouraging-making love to an icicle." He kissed her throat, his hands clutching at her breasts.
"Ouch, that hurts," she wiggled away.
"But I do want to give you pleasure." In the darkness she felt his eyes on her face
"You know what gives me more pleasure than anything, darling."
He breathed hard. "But-it's so unnatural, Gail. Good, decent sex-"
"If you don't want to then don't ask what I like." She moved to the edge of the bed.
He was right at her, doing as she desired. He was clumsy, stopped mid-way, tired, leaving her up in the air. It took a long time till finally her nerves responded and twitched in joyful spasm of release.
They lay side by side hardly touching. Her hand finally shot out, finding him not in a state of readiness. She plucked and teased till he finally panted and tensed.
As his sweating body belabored hers she decided there would be no more marital lovemaking; his attempts proved distasteful to her and she was glad when he finally collapsed, winded and exhausted, giving her the offering she didn't really want.
"Darling," gratefully he kissed her closed lips, "it was wonderful. I-I was out of practice. We must do it more often."
Never again, she promised herself, keeping her lips tightly compressed.
CHAPTER NINE
Gail sat at the piano playing Rustle of Spring; her repertory had not improved and she was tired of her ineffectual efforts. She removed her fingers from the keyboard and banged the piano closed. It had been an idiotic idea-to acquire a piano just to have a crude beatnik around. For so she now often thought of him in her mind. Three years younger than herself, he seemed infantile to her now with his crazy moods and attitudes toward her switching from rudeness to polite sufferance. Even their lovemaking was reduced to twice a week. Knowing the full scale of his passion and with the thrill of novelty worn thin, he was just another extremely self-centered, conceited young man. By now she doubted seriously that his piano-tinkling would ever amount to much.
And yet, they still had their moments of burning ecstasy when lust gilded the hour and she submitted shivering to his naked sensuality, finding temporary relief from boredom.
She wondered how much Janice Bailey guessed about their affair; she had come up to their table in the corner bar where they sometimes met, her eyes greener than Gad's, full of malicious amusement.
"Caught you two lovebirds." She had sat down and joined them in a drink.
"I'm taking teacher here to my house for my piano lesson," said Gail.
"What for a piano?" giggled Janice. "I've heard of pet dogs and other suitable extra-exciting incitements to intimacy...."
"Well, anyway, believe it or not, Janice," Kent had spoken up, "Gail is trying to learn how to play-helps to pass the time."
"When a healthy man and woman get together they don't need a piano-they can make beautiful music together without it," quoth Janice.
Janice had left pretending an appointment. Well, Gail knew she wouldn't gossip-she was too busy with her own affairs. Janice Bailey is an interesting type, reflected Gad. And even though I know her tastes, she's not repulsive to me. And I know she wouldn't mind hopping into bed with me, she added to herself. She had a way of eating you up with those green eyes, smiling, laughing up her sleeve at you. She dressed like a dream. In that olive-green suit, so superbly tailored, she had looked like a green sapling, straight and slender. Yet even though she might feel and act like a male, the impudent mounds of her breasts had shown her up as a woman. Her body must be milky white as is her face, she pursued the thought. And those slim tapered fingers should prove exciting....
Quickly she stopped all thought of Janice. Kent was due shortly and she needed to spark his desire by being her most attractive self. She took off the new green brocade house coat, a gift from Jack, and, completely nude, walked into the bathroom. The cold shower pricked her skin, making her glow all over. She toweled herself dry with the huge yellow towel and now stood before the mirror, her hands cupping her breasts. Was she seeing things? They seemed swollen, heavier, and the nipples looked rather discolored. She ran her palms along her hips, feeling them more curvy. No doubt, she was gaining weight. She frowned. Was that good? Or did she have to watch her calories? Turning slowly, she decided a little more flesh was becoming. Jack often called her his broomstick.
Kent was half an hour late. Gail liked punctuality, She chose to remain seated on the couch, pouting.
"So you finally got yourself here. Something more important must have come up."
All jauntiness, he sat down by her side and kissed her cheek. "Something nice did come up-I met Janice on the way; she invited me to ride in her car, and she dropped me here."
"Really? I'm surprised you didn't invite her up." Gail's tone was icy.
"I almost did-but I wanted to discuss that with you first."
"Discuss-what is there to discuss?" she pursed her coral lips.
"Now, don't play the goddess, Gail. Janice is a very-stimulating person. She would be most stimulating for us both. Any love affair, even one like ours, needs a shot in the arm, some new excitement, or it gets stale."
Gad stared at him aghast. She found nothing to say but thought plenty. So that pup was getting tired of her, of the love game she tried so hard to make intriguing. But then, she instantly confronted truth-that the novelty had worn off. Yes," they both had grown tired of each other at the same moment almost.
Kent smiled a knowing smile. "Why don't we share joy with Janice? Plenty to go around," he suggested.
"Are you serious?" Gad's eyes held a strange malicious twinkle.
"Never more. No doubt you know she's a Les. But I'd call her a hybrid Les," he cackled. "Clever way to put it, don't you think?"
"Your cleverness exhausts me, dear. And what is a hybrid Les, may I ask?"
"Well, as you no doubt found out by personal experience," he leered, "being friends with her, she prefers her own sex. With one exception. Being charged enough by female co-operation, she will then gladly allow a man to have his way with her ... lots of fun, don't you think?"
Gail tried to let it sink in, her eyes green glass balls of wonderment.
"I can see the idea intrigues you. So, I'm for immediate action. Get the girl here for tomorrow p.m., and we'll experiment."
"You mean here, in my house?"
"Safest place for extra-marital ventures, the home-you should know."
But as it happened, the thrilling adventure took place at Janice's studio apartment. Gail didn't make a move, Kent arranged it all. At least, so Gail found out later....
Gail hadn't laid eyes on her youthful lover for three days and kept wondering whether she'd seen the last of him. Thus far, it didn't bother her too much. She still lived in the afterglow-memory of their last time together. He had been like the first time, wild and playful, arrogant like a young bull, brusquely, brutally taking possession of her the way she liked it. Leaving her with a lingering lassitude, 'her body aching, yet light as air; her mind becalmed.
She wondered what to do with the long afternoon, staring dully at the piano, a silent adversary with whom she didn't feel like wrangling.
She jumped at the shrill ringing of the phone. So, he couldn't wait any longer. She yanked off the receiver, not waiting for his voice.
"I had been wondering whether you'd left town, Kent-"
She listened to the low chuckle. "I know I'm a poor substitute, this is only little Janice wondering whether I could entice you to come to my place. Look at abstract paintings-more thrilling than etchings," she giggled.
"Why Janice, I'd love to." She scribbled down the address on the pad by the phone. "I'll be over in a jiffy. Can I bring something?"
"Just bring yourself," chirped Janice. "That will be enough."
Slipping into the black nylon panties it occurred to her that Kent had not been mentioned. Would he be there? Or was this an intimate tete a tete with Janice? Well, no matter, she'd enjoy herself. Janice was clever and amusing. Gail had an idea she wouldn't go for those abstract paintings; she wanted to see what could be seen without having odd curves and circles explained.
She chose her gown with care; Janice always wore the right colors, the ones that flattered her red hair and pale complexion. She settled on a royal blue jersey that hugged her curves, with shoes and bag to match. Her mink stole went admirably well with it and completed the ensemble. She dipped the blue feather pdl box atop her shining coppery curls and nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Smari, and not over-dressed, she said to herself, leaving the apartment.
Janice lived in a different suburb, one even more exclusive than Gail's. The two-story brick house looked ancient, although well kept, as if it had been there forever. Gail lifted the artistic brass knocker; it banged down with a metallic sound, and she entered a dim, cool hall looking for the apartment bell, when she heard Janice's voice.
"Come right up. Second floor. Door's open."
She ascended red-carpeted, ancient stairs. Janet was expecting her in the door, grabbing her hands and pulling her inside.
"I'd hoped for so long you'd come and visit."
Through a small foyer where an antique, gold-framed mirror shimmered dully, Janice led her into a high-ceilinged room with a big northern skylight. It was cluttered with large canvasses, some of them still wet, lined up along the walls; others were hanging framed on the wall.
"Do sit down, dear."
Gail sank into the intricately carved chair upholstered with faded red satin, an antique no doubt, placing her purse on the inlaid low table.
"What a charming retreat," she said, her eyes roving over violent blobs of color splashed on the various canvasses.
"You're the most charming object here," complimented Janice. "The colors you're wearing are so right."
"And you, Janice, look like the artist at work."
Janice wore skin-tight sea-green torero pants that spanned her lean buttocks intriguingly. The rose and gold patterned silk blouse hung loosely about her frame letting you guess at what was beneath. She wore her hair severely combed back, revealing a high, slightly rounded forehead. She looked more youthful and the changed hairdo made her features look piquant. Green satin mules shod her tiny feet, The blouse was sleeveless, showing well-rounded, white arms. She wore no jewelry.
They sat there scrutinizing each other for some time, finally bursting out laughing at the same instant.
"Men just take in a woman as a whole, but leave it to us, we see and appreciate every fine point," said Janice.
Gad sniffed; a strange, sweetish scent filled the air. Amber, she guessed. "What is it? Reminds me of church." She looked around the room and saw the spiral of blue smoke curling up out of the huge Buddha's mouth.
"I like the Oriental touch, makes me dreamy," said Janice. "Life is so aggressive, and one has to dream to be and remain creative."
Gad looked at the attractive creature who was not only decorative, but a worker also, an artist; she felt infinitely inferior at that moment.
"You have such a rich life, Janice; you don't have to-to depend on others to make life interesting."
"Don't I? We all need someone-if for nothing else but to know our true value ... But you didn't come here to talk philosophy ... You appealed to me the first time I saw you-you're so full of vigor, clamoring for life and excitement. Well, does marriage provide all the excitement you need?" And as Gail kept sdent. "Of course not, it never will for a woman of your type. Although our friend Kent is not the final solution. Now, how about some drinks? Bourbon okay?" She arose and went into the other room, calling, "you may want to take a glance at my work. And, I don't expect you to like it."
Gad 'wandered from one canvas to the next, puzzled, unable to make them out. Finally she turned to the half finished portrait on the easel that stood in the shadows in the far corner. Startled, she bent closer. The copper curls, the nose and the wide lips were her own. It was a good likeness. The figure, apparently a nude, was only sketched out, reclining on some purple divan. The expression in the green eyes was one of intense greed. Is that the way I appear to others? Gail asked herself, startled hearing Janice's voice who had come up behind her.
"That's the way I see you. Of course it's difficult to do a nude without the model. I hope you won't mind-posing for me."
"Not at all," the words were out before Gail knew what they might imply. "The face is my own, you got it exactly right."
"I always study my subjects before putting them on canvas," said Janice, tending her the tall, filled glass. "I hope you don't mind, I put the ice in. Taste it."
Gail took a sip; it was potent and seared her in-sides. "Just right," she smiled, watching Janice drain her drink.
"I guess you don't understand my work. I would not expect you to. Abstract art isn't painting photographically, it's putting feelings and moods on canvas. It takes a practiced eye to enjoy it ... It took Bob two years to find out-and then it was too late."
"But I thought-"
"You thought right. I think men are a waste of time. It so happens that Bob Acron was my attempt at marriage-one that ended in divorce, of course. But let's dispense with husbands. Come, let me show you the rest of the place."
Gail followed Janice into a white and gold bedroom, surprisingly angular and modern. Gold brocade curtains resembled stately, fluted columns against the dead white wall.
"I never pictured you in a boudoir like this," said Gail, inspecting the wide bed with ochre-colored nylon sheets and pillows.
"I like to surprise my playmates," giggled Janice, standing before the glass-topped dresser, patting her hair. Gail looked at the battery of bottles and flagons, the array of jars and powder boxes fit for a prima donna.
Janice pointed at a closed white door. "Kitchen and my junky den are in there. And you may want to use the bathroom."
Gad entered the large room and gasped. It looked funereal-all tiled in black, with the huge sunken tub of the same color. Hand and bath towels too were night-black, so was the downy bathmat into which her feet sank.
"It's-it's different. Exotic. But so are you,Janice." She took off her hat and went into the other room to place it on a white bench, her fingers combing dirough her curls.
"Sit down here by me, or, are you afraid? I don't bite-I just nibble," said Janice who was reclining on the sheet watching Gail closely. "Tell me about your Jack and yourself-just a short sketch. I have a feeling you married him to escape a small town-bored, wanting out. And now you find yourself trapped."
Gail wanted to object, say it wasn't that way at all, then kept quiet. For Janice had hit the nail on the head-or almost. She looked into Janice's understanding eyes, feeling the sudden overwhelming need Jo unburden herself. Possibly to rid herself of an old guilt.
"Jack was my sister's fiance. I snatched him just before their wedding." She closed her eyes, her mind going back to Plymouth Falls. "My sister Myra is everything I'm not, sweet-tempered, angelic, of a Madonna-like beauty and disposition. Golden-haired with violet eyes. Everybody loved her."
"Your sister sounds rather blah; you're the exotic, exciting type, Gail. I would never paint your sister, I'm sure. I bet she's large-breasted with bouncy curves."
"I always envied her those-snowballs," said Gail. "I still wonder how I landed Jack."
"How did you-mind telling me?"
For one instant only Gail hesitated. But she knew she could trust Janice who'd understand, being worldly wise and women-wise. So, to the impassive pale face of Janice she told about intercepting Jack's letter, flying to Chicago, conveying the message that Myra had changed her mind.
"I took him by surprise and by storm," she explained. "He was a lost and lonesome guy. I was handy. I was the company he needed at that moment-so I saw to it he made it permanent."
"And now you're sorry you put yourself out," concluded Janice...."How did she take it-your sister?"
"I can only guess. I found it best to send a wire after the ceremony, stating the facts. When Dad died, a short while ago, Myra sent a wire. I-wired back ... I often wonder what happened to Myra she's the kind to carry an everlasting torch. But then, by now she's probably married Marty, her old admirer. They own the largest hardware store in Plymouth," she added.
"Well I only hope she stays right where she is-in your home town. It might aggravate things ... But then, time makes people look at things differently."
"In a way, I would like to meet up with my sister again; I'm curious whether her beauty is holding up. I guess her disposition, even and sunny will never change."
"Let sleeping sisters lie," admonished Janice "Want to know about me? I never knew my parents I was raised by an aunt, way out Nebraska way. Quite a colorful character she was. Buxom, big-bosomed, liking her whiskey, and even at sixty being helped out by two lovers. One, a truck driver, found it to his taste to ravish sweet, inexperienced Janice under the stairs." She shuddered and her face suddenly looked lined and haggard, showing her years of fast living. "I stayed down there in that dark hole for a long time, crying away my horror. The distaste for men, starting as of that time, remained with me. Feeling soded and broken, I slunk to my room trying to cleanse away what soap and water never could rub away-my utter loathing. There was no use telling my aunt; she liked Max's earthy lovemaking and would never believe me ... I was sixteen then. I really hated to leave her for she was kind in her own fashion. A man had used me-so I decided to use a man to get away.
"Jim was the first traveling salesman I met up with. I worked as a car-hop then, at a diner. He couldn't travel fast enough for me. Never stopping till the next town. He drove to a motel and wanted his reward right then and there. I promised in the morning, pretending tiredness. Well, while he snored away I sneaked out, lifting two tens from his wallet. There were many tens in there, he'd never miss those. I took a room in that town and got another car-hop job. There I met up with a winner-well, he fell for me and married me. A sad disappointment for both parties. By that time I had started sketching; he even paid for my instructions. And we parted almost friends. Slowly, painstakingly, I made my way. And, believe it or not-a woman gave me my big break." She stopped to take a deep breath, her hand brushing over her tired face.
"I was wearing a black velvet beret and white satin shirt, trying to look Bohemian, sketching the patrons in a dingy night club who didn't want their portrait. The lights were very dim. I halted at Anik's table-Anik Morrow, you may have heard her name; she happens to be a leading abstract painter-sure I'd be chased away. Her dark slanting eyes looked right through me as if she wanted to know all my secrets with that one look. 'I hope you get the eyes right, they never do,' she said, waving a slim hand, encouraging me to start. I perched on a stool, the charcoal trembled in my hand. Doing her seemed easy; she had a lean, arresting face, almost ascetic. And I did get the eyes right. As I handed her the sketch she looked at it for a long time. I felt faint. Then she smiled. 'You finally did me right. Yes, you have talent.' She opened her beaded bag, extracted a bill and gave it to me. 'Here,' she shoved a card into my hand, 'come and see me. We'll talk about your future-for you have a future, girl."
"Anik became my teacher-in painting and in love. For two years I stayed with her. Then she wanted a change of locale and girl. She departed for Tahiti, leaving me her studio and a sizeable sum of money. From there on I had clear sailing...."
Gad was impressed. Now here was a woman who had really carved her own career from blood and hunger.
"Quite a life you've had." Gail took the slender fingers and pressed them, giving vent to her admiration. "Today, you can look back and, more important, you can look down on many people."
"I never look down-those who're down today may be on top tomorrow ... But enough of story telling. Let me make us another drink. No, you stay here," she pressed Gad down on the couch. "Kitchen looks a mess. I'm a rotten housekeeper."
Gail wondered why she protested so violently, but dismissed the thought, thinking about Janice's checkered career. The girl deserved her success; she had courage-courage to live and love as she pleased.
Janice deposited the drink on the bedside table and went back to the half-opened door peering inside the kitchen as if she'd hid something valuable there.
"I just wondered whether I'd closed that refrigerator," she said, picking up her glass and clinking it to Gail. "Let's drink to the two most fascinating people I know-us!"
CHAPTER TEN
Why don't you take off that smart blue dress, Gad? I'd like to try out some poses for my painting." Janice's green eyes twinkled.
Janice arose, unzipped her torero pants and out of them emerged the pale-fleshed scissors of her slim legs and compact thighs. "Just to encourage you," she chuckled, and off came the blouse. Both vestments were flung on a chair. Janice stood before Gail, legs wide apart, open to her inspection. "There isn't too much of me but what there is, is prime."
Gad stared fascinated at the pale almost-boy; the skin was so transparent, the blue veins emerged like fine pencil tracings. As Janice smiled her teeth gleamed white as cream. Gad inspected the bony diagram of the girl's body, the skin of greenish-white hue. The broad chest made the twin mounds of breasts look inconsequential so that the oversized, deep-red nipples appeared extra large. Against her will, Gail's eyes fastened at a strategic point where strippers wear fig leaves.
"Yes, I'm a true redhead," giggled Janice, and you prove the same to me."
The lights were dim and Janice's oriental perfume made Gail feel dreamy. And why not, she thought? What have I got to lose? I've lost it long ago, she pursued the thought.
Janice helped her undress. "Hm, black undies. So tartish, but I love it." Her nimble fingers removed the panties and the bra-worn for this occasion-and now it was Janice's turn to look and admire."
"Hm," she licked her lips like a kid staring at a cake behind a shop window, "delightfully delicious. Crisp and brown. And those impudent chest attachments. You are too twentieth centurish tobea Diana, too ecclectic. Yes," she walked around Gail to see that living masterpiece from all angles, "you are an abstractionist's dream. Those almost-curves." Her hands flicked over the buttocks, and now moved forward down the thighs, making Gail vibrate. Now those artistic hands, infinitely gentle and knowing, moved over concave abdomen and finally cupped Gad's breasts, who felt dizzy with repressed anticipation.
Janice fronted her close, nipple touching nipple, and started weaving from side to side, increasing friction by pressing close. Finally their lips came together, remained fused with Janice's tongue exploring. Wrapped in tight embrace, hands straying on each other's backs, they tested their skin resilience. Gad never recalled how they landed on the sheet.
But she would forever remember the tender, intimate caresses of the girl who was now kneeling over her, fanning the fires of desire expertly and with deliberate tantalizing slowness. Gail felt strange; to her, Janice was a young boy, eager and curious to discover the secrets of Eros. Yet her kisses were seasoned by a thousand years of living and the spice of her allure was in the deftness of her hands and in the delicate and to Gail novel caresses the girl bestowed upon her. Her legs strained, her insides were tight with excitement and her breasts ached wanting to be fondled by this expert.
Gail sighed and shifted position. Janice's hair was much softer than hers-silk like Myra's. But she didn't want to think of Myra now. Spasms shook her body and she surrendered to Janice's knowing administrations, twisting and moaning, scorched by ribbons of fire.
"Give," ordered Janice, and Gail soared to the peak of ecstasy.
Immobile, wrapped in the mantle of euphoria, Gail felt far away in a wondrous twilight of the senses, suspended in a web of no recall. Her body like a cloud.
Janice's kiss made Gail open her eyes. "Do come back to earth, darling, stars may be nice, but I'm here."
Her skin is infinitely more delicate than mine, reflected Gail, her lips tracing the blue veins, laving the boyish form. Janice's hands were on Gail's shoulders, now pressing down, her entire body a white arc, an offering, an ecstatic exhibiting of each tender curve and hollow, withholding nothing from lip or hand.
"Oooh, sooo good," sighed Janice, twisting and moaning, surrendering to the moment of unique, exquisite pleasure.
Brusquely Gail detached herself and sat up. A door closed and stealthy steps approached the bed. She jumped up, her eyes frightened, and stared at Kent Miles who stood there, a faunish grin on his face.
Gail sputtered and choked. "What-how did you get in here?"
Janice's giggle hit her ears. "I thought it would be more exciting-this way. And I didn't mind. Kent is an experienced voyeur."
Gad frowned at Janice. She grabbed up the sheet wrapping it around her nudity. "Janice, you knew all the time-why-that's why you didn't want me to come into the kitchen...."
"It's a bit late for covering up, don't you think, Gail?" Kent's smile was impudent. "Drop that sheet, don't be childish."
"Well, let her keep covered if she prefers it," said Janice. "And Gail, you don't have to be a party to what-might happen. Of course, I'd much rather we all had our fun together."
Somehow, the blanket slipped to the floor. Gail looked at Kent who wore nothing but his beard. She let out a giggle. "If you could only see yourself, Kent; you look like an animated coat hanger."
That caused a general outburst of laughter and the ice was broken.
Kent looked from Gail to Janice. "Two Venuses and only one Eros," he chuckled. "It takes a good man but I feel up to it." Saying this, he lay down next to Janice, winking at Gail. "We don't mind an audience of one, do we, Janice?"
"Two is nice, but three adds spice," quoth Janice. "Join the crowd everybody." She beckoned to Gail who came over and perched at the foot of the bed. Gail's heart was pounding. This is evil, it flitted through her brain even while her eyes glued to the thrilling spectacle. Kent's performance was more brilliant than she'd ever dreamt, and their two skin tones, light tan on alabaster, formed an exciting contrast.
He seemed like a huge faun having fun with a wood nymph who didn't flee but was ready and willing for the capture. Paralyzed, shaken by alternate hot and cold shivers, Gail listened to their panting that turned into moans. Their faces were a study in lust. Kent's features, a tight, tortured mask. His beard causing a giggle from Janice as he used it as a brush down her front. His big spread hands covered the slim thighs and now they moved to arrange the captive body.
Watching their hot, glazed eyes, noticing the spasm shaking man and woman body, Gail felt left out, abandoned. Her nerves were on edge; she felt hollow inside. They didn't need her; they had fun without her.
She felt Janice's eyes on her, saw the outstretched hand. "Don't stay on your island, dear, there's room for all of us." Janice pulled and Gail fell forward, her head landing on Janice's chest. Two pairs of legs entwined hers snake-like. She felt caught in the web of flesh. Hard and soft. Suddenly she jumped as the enemy attacked in the rear. She cried out wanting to squirm away, but the impact was too great.
"Just a little divertimento," Kent's voice sounded hoarse, as he now released her.
Gail watched, had to watch as Kent, the leader of this strange rite, took possession of Janice, burying himself, going underground, moving rhythmically and forcefully so that Gail had to move along.
Janice's eyes were glazed. "Gail, you touch me," she whispered.
Gail's mouth closed over the sugar cone and their three rhythms blended. Faster. Faster. Three bodies touching intimately, friction causing final eruption.
An outcry and then a deep moan. Gail sank back on the pillow closing her eyes, feeling faint, yet oddly stirred up. Her nerves vibrated, eagerly partaking of the communal heathen feast.
The bed springs creaked as Janice jumped up and disappeared in the bathroom. A huge spider was moving up Gad's thigh, irritating her skin. Now a second one. Opening her eyes, she saw his pale face which was bent over her, and she felt the crisp beard brushing her skin.
"Better rest," she said idiotically, "you're tired."
"I need your assistance," he whispered.
The miracle happened; a shoot grew into a hard-cored club which he now used as a spear. Gail was his star fish, wiggling, moaning in a wild frenzy which turned into exultation as Janice joined the party, adding to Gail's shivering delight.
Aware of her body giving and receiving pleasure, with Janice as a guiding spirit, fiery waves spilled over Gail, now inundating her, insulating her against all the outer world. Her senses fused into one sensual paroxysm of dissolving climax. She was floating down the calm river of appeasement....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Where in the world have you been, Gail? You had me worried sick. It's after one. I phoned just about everybody."
Gail looked at Jack, who stood there with his coat on, as if she couldn't recall having met him. "Not everybody. I was at Janice's studio ... Phone was out of order there." She hoped he would believe her but didn't really care.
"I was about ready to call the police...."He walked up to her and took her into his arms. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."
She was almost moved, reading concern in his eyes. She patted his cheek as one pats an old faithful retriever, always there, always glad to see you. "Why, nothing happened. I had the most interesting time." She took off her hat and dropped the stole on a chair. "Janice's paintings are-extraordinary ... abstract, you know."
"I can imagine." He yawned. "Well, we better get to bed. Hard day tomorrow."
She vanished into the bathroom and frowned into the mirror. It didn't show, nothing showed. She had a crazy impulse to tell him about the three-way circus, wanting to see his reaction. He'd think her a wanton ... She looked at the mauve shadows beneath her eyes, thinking I am a wanton. I have no morals. And-no regrets.
She took off her things. The hot shower brought her exhaustion to the fore. Her limbs were like dead wood, not attached to her body. A deep lassitude reached through to her bones. She would, she decided, allow Janice to paint her in the altogether, but there would be no more intimacies. And as far as Kent was concerned she had lost all interest in him. Let him practice the piano elsewhere. The way she felt now, neither man nor woman could coax excitement out of her.
For die following week she stuck close to home, cooked appetizing little dinners for Jack who was happily surprised. But whenever he reached for her she pretended tiredness and he didn't insist.
"What happened to your beatnik admirer?" He dropped the paper.
Feeling housewifely, Gail was shoving vases and nick-nacks around. "Oh I really don't know-nor care. One thing I know, I'll never learn to play the piano."
"Well," he chuckled, "in that case it goes back where it came from. Good thing I told them that we'd only rent it with an option, to buy ... I had an idea your musical phase would be a passing fancy."
She looked at him and thought, he's not as dumb as I thought-maybe he's not dumb at all, just waiting till I rediscover him as a bed partner.
"By the way, we're leaving for Los Angeles in about a week-that gives you plenty of time to buy out the stores."
"I promise I won't bankrupt you." She walked over and kissed the top of his head.
Los Angeles, right now, looked good to her. She wanted a change badly, a change of atmosphere, and maybe a change of man. Janice had been interesting as an hors d'oeuvre, although Kent, the male, had been the main course at that feast. She was posing for Janice at the rate of three afternoons a week; it was a nice diversion, but Janice was getting on her nerves. She recalled yesterday's visit.
Janice had received her-of all absurd vestments-in a black bikini. Gail had taken one look at the boyish body and had casually remarked.
"If I do catch cold at least you'll come and nurse me," the girl had countered gaily, re-arranging the couch draperies on which Gail was to pose.
Gail was reclining, head thrown back, legs harmoniously displayed against the soft backdrop, when Janice dropped palette and brush and walked over.
"I don't like the way your curls are arranged, too coiffeurish." Her fingers ruffled through Gail's hair, now sliding down, trickling over one white breast.
"Using a new beauty cream?" she inquired. "They look fuller. But I approve. "She bent down and her lips were greedy.
Annoyed, Gail wriggled away. "I have no desire to lug around huge udders," she stated. "I guess I'll have to start dieting."
"Nonsense,' I like my gals well upholstered," announced Janice, starting the hand play once more.
"Really Janice, let's not waste time. You better get on with the painting ... I have lots to do before I leave." And I'm not your girl, she wanted to say but didn't.
"What makes you suddenly so cool and aloof? You did enjoy our little threesome, if I recall. Or, maybe you prefer to have Kent all to yourself." Her mouth was tight, the green eyes oozed malice.
"If it makes you feel better, I haven't heard from Kent since-we met here. And, glad of it. After all, he's nothing but a rather crude young male."
"How stupid of me, I thought you went for crude young males-if they're virile enough."
Janice started working away, and Gail hoped this was the last session. She had enough of Janice Bailey.
"I shall require three more afternoons out of your life," said Janice, accompanying Gail to the door. "That is, unless you change your mind. I know you better than you know yourself. One man-especially a type like Jack-will never be enough for you."
Well, Janice was wrong on all counts. Jack was fine, he tried to please and she, Gail, would try to please him. Now she thought about Janice's remark. The bra she now wore constantly, seemed overly tight. Also, her belly was slightly mounded. Oh, not enough for anybody but herself to notice. Also, she didn't feel quite right. Would be a good idea to consult Dr. Powell before going on that trip.
---Gail got up from the table, her eyes on Dr.
James Powell who was putting away the instrument, his back to her.
"Well Doc, what's the verdict? Now that you have looked into me as well as at my bulges." Her tone was light and jesting.
He turned his face to her. "My diagnosis, Mrs. Michaels, is that you're pregnant. That should please a healthy young woman like you ... I know Jack will be overjoyed."
Gail paled and bit her lower lip. "But-that can't be, Doctor. Are you quite sure?"
"And why can't it be?" he smiled broadly. "Happens every day. Of course, you could have a frog test-that would tell the story."
The result of the laboratory test was positive.
Gail took a long drive hoping it would clear her mind. She looked at the bursting new green of the trees, at the sun that lay in golden patches on the manicured lawns of the suburbs. It simply couldn't, must not be. A child was the one thing she didn't want. Becoming ungainly, her belly swollen and maybe her figure ruined forever. Although, nowadays women took good care of themselves, wore corsets. Well, she wanted none of it. Then the question welled up: Whose child? That beatnik's or Jack's? She had only been careless with Jack that one time ... But, one time was enough. She slowed down; no use getting a speeding ticket to add to her worries. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became to her that it was Kent Miles'. She bore that young man's chdd, a lover she no longer saw, nor wanted to see. Jack, of course, would be overjoyed. But she wouldn't tell him; she must find a way to get rid of it. Other women did it every day. Maybe Janice would know of a place....
That night, she was the loving wife, surrendering to Jack's lovemaking, her mind scheming. Finally deciding she would have a good time in Los Angeles and tend to the distasteful matter later when she returned.
And then, the afternoon before their departure as she was busy arranging her wardrobe, Kent appeared.
"Hello Gail." He embraced her, keeping her in his arms, before she could recover from her surprise. "Miss me? I thought if I made myself scarce I'd be more appreciated."
"Let go of me," she wrested herself loose, staring at the beak-nosed face, hating the scraggly beard, hating him who had gotten her into trouble. "I was glad you stayed away, and I hoped you'd stay away for good."
"Baby, whatever gave you that idea?" He slapped her buttocks playfully. "I changed jobs, had a lot of practicing to do. But now we can takeover where we left off." His hands reached for her breasts. "Hm, so full and firm."
She slapped his hand and he let go of her. "Will you please go and leave me alone."
His face took on a sheepish expression, the eyes looked mean. "So, no more piano lessons. I get it, you found yourself another boy."
"I happen to have a perfectly good husband," she said virtuously.
"He must have changed," hissed Kent. "But I haven't-changed. I still want your loving. And, right now."
He yanked at her robe; its one button came off and revealed her tanned self. His lips crushed her mouth and he carried her to the couch. She bit and scratched but while his one hand held her down, the other undid his zipper. Now he covered her, laughing at her kicking.
"I like that wild-cat stuff. See how hot you got me, baby?" He strained against her and, feeling his pulsating, throbbing hardness, desire flamed in her. Damning herself, she resisted no longer, let him have his way, finally panting and moaning, sharing the climax with him.
He was about to leave the cozy hiding place when she saw his face redden. Quickly he withdrew, trying to straighten out his pants he hadn't bothered to take off.
"Taking a piano lesson?" Jack's voice was cold as ice. He advanced into the middle of the room, his face one shade paler than usual, his eyes black with fury.
Kent was on his feet, his back to the strafing eyes, bringing his attire in order. Gail picked up the robe from the rug to cover herself, a sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing this was it. Nothing she could do-about it.
Now Jack's voice thundered, his forefinger shot out, pointing at the door. "Get out before I murder you."
Kent raced past the husband's balled fists, made it to the door that closed on him. Husband and wife were alone.
Jack's face was working, he was breathing hard. He stood by the couch, looking down at her pale face, the wild hair, and the smeared lipstick.
"Don't say one word, and don't try to defend yourself. I have good eyes. I had my doubts about your carryings on. However, as that louse hadn't darkened my door lately I had hopes...." His voice trembled, fading out into a deep sigh.
"Jack," she knew now what to say, hoping to convince him, "don't judge by what-you thought you saw. True, Kent came here wanting to make love to me. But," she sat up, holding the robe over her body, "I told him to leave. He wouldn't listen-he simply-"
"Yes, I know, he raped you. How many times does that make? I may have been a trusting fool. But, no more. I'll think it over-what to do. Yes, a divorce should suit us both...."
"But Jack, I don't want you to leave me ... I-"
"You better shut up." He came close and frowned into her greenish face. "I could-yes, I think I shall." He slapped her cheek, first the right one and then the left. She screamed, tried to hit back, but he held her hands in his iron grip. "I'd advise you to stay out of my way," his voice rumbled like distant thunder. "You may get hurt."
That night, he locked her out of the bedroom and she lay in the den, cursing Kent, her stupidity, thinking of some angle. There seemed none....
In the morning he was gone before she could talk to him. And that evening he was packing his bags while she sat in the living room wondering what to say.
He stood before her, his hat on, wearing his new suit. "I'm leaving for L.A. tonight, and I want you gone when I come back. Understand, gone. And," his eyes were hard, "I won't change my mind."
"But Jack, where can I go?" she muttered.
"For all I care, back to where you came from-to Plymouth Falls. And, just so you know, I withdrew the money from the joint account. So, use what you saved from your allowance...."
He picked up the grip and was gone, not giving her a chance to say anything.
She crumbled in a heap on the floor, her hands beat at the rug. She cried tears of rage, her mind desperately scheming. What to do? Where to turn? She didn't have a friend in the world. Suddenly she dried her tears on the sleeve of the robe, got up and walked to the phone. She had one friend who would be most understanding and more than willing to console and advise.
She dialed Janice Bailey's number.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jack michaels stared out at the sea of clouds, a boding, shifting cauldron of grey and white, with here and there a bit of blue sky peeking through. He had a difficult case and a demanding client to face in Los Angeles. Cold logic would win the case, and he knew he'd win it like so many others where his clear-headed, unemotional reasoning had assured victory no matter how hopeless or enmeshed the case had appeared. He always was in control.
Not being in control, is that why my very private affairs, my marriage, has turned out to be a complete failure, he asked himself. He decided to allow for a few moments of introspection much needed to arrive at a final decision knowing, although not wanting to know, that there was just one solution-divorce. Hadn't they been separated for many months now-he and Gail mentally foremost, but also bodily.
True, they had shared the same home and, at times, the same bed, but mentally they were strangers, worse, adversaries.
And now, with the issue clearly before him, he dared probe deeper. Why and what had him marry Gail in such a hurry-when there had never been but one girl who meant everything to him-Myra! The truth suddenly dawned on him-that Gail had precipitated the action, never giving him a chance to find out for himself why Myra had changed her mind about him so suddenly, overnight, so to speak. Like a simpleton he had accepted Gail's words-that she came as a messenger sent by Myra. Disappointed, hurt, and weak, he had allowed Gail to take over.
Thinking back over the months of their rocky marriage, he came to the inevitable conclusion that Gail had never cared for him. It had been an action of spite-the conquest of him-to lord it over her sister Myra whom Gail had envied all of her life.
And he, Jack, knowing all the time but not wanting to acknowledge it to himself, that on his part the marriage had been a compromise. He had gone along, giving Gail free rein. Temporizing ... Well, now all had come to a head and surprisingly he felt no deep hurt. Only his ego was bruised.
And now, after all that time, he finally thought about Myra, wondering what had happened to her. Wishing for her happiness, yet not wanting her to be happy without him. After this trip, and with Gail out of his house and his life, he would make it his business to find out about Myra ... If I were the playboy type, if I knew more about women and myself, this never could have happened to me, he concluded, finally getting at the truth.
He thought back with shame to his other 'affair of the heart,' or rather, one of the body, with Elaine Morton who had found it so easy to blackmail him into paying for a child he knew he had not fathered. He recalled her words after she had picked up the five thousand-in cash, as she had demanded-'You may be a smart lawyer, Jack, but when it comes to women you're a pushover."
She had been too right. It was simply that in his crowded schedule he found no time to hunt the right girl. He put his finger on one, decided she was it, and acted as if she really were what he wanted her to be-the acme of perfection. The three or four women with whom he'd ever been intimate had always proved to be the wrong ones ... Well, this would not happen ever again!
I've squandered a good part of my thirty five years emotionally. From now on, he decided, fastening his seat belt as the stewardess urged, I'll play it safe. Pick up a girl as one selects a shiny toy, play with it tdl I weary of her, and on to the next, more appealing because it will be novel to me. Keep the emotional compartment sealed off.
Jack wandered through the elegant suite he had reserved well in advance at the Ambassador Hotel. To please Gail whom I could never please, he thought full of bitterness, wondering what to do with the chunk of evening that loomed before him. He had unpacked his bag, shaved and showered and even permitted himself the luxury of a short nap. Now he felt fresh and fit. Fit for what? Tomorrow would be all work and tonight could be all play-if he had someone to play with. The city was full of women, young and pretty ones, and it should be easy to find one who would be willing.
He called up Tom Sweeney, partner of the law firm he would deal with in the case.
"Well Jack, glad to hear your voice. Had a good flight?"
"Excellent. I feel fine. Just a bit lonesome. I didn't bring the wife along."
"Oh, I see. Well ... too bad Connie and I have to dine with the family. She was so anxious to meet your Mrs.; we had arranged a nice party for you both tomorrow night ... But, we'll just take you around. And, for tonight I'd suggest you visit the Can Can Cafe-if it's your night to howl. It's off Vine. Small, darkish, excellent French cuisine. And at the bar you might buy some stray starlet a stinger. Off the record," he chuckled.
"Thanks a lot, Tom. Will do. See you tomorrow."
He hung up, feeling suddenly prickly with excitement. Yes, this would be an off-the-record evening. And night-if things went his way. And why shouldn't they? he thought, knotting the gay yellow tie before the mirror. He squinted at this reflection, brushed his dark hair that Gail once had found interesting. His deep brown eyes shone and he passed the tip of his tongue over his full red lips, foretasting possible pleasure.
He wore his new gray suit, now liking the wide, padded shoulders that slimmed his waist line. He dashed the grey Fedora over one eye, then rectified the angle-no use looking foolish, he decided. It was a warm evening and he dispensed with an overcoat.
The lobby was jammed and lilting music drifted in from the lounge. A tall, exotic-looking brunette passed throwing him a smile. He sniffed her provocative perfume and turned, watching her enticing, silk-spanned rear wiggle away. He didn't have to leave the premises-he could find a girl in this hotel without effort. But why not explore that cafe? He hailed a cab, and directed the driver to the Can Can. He looked at his watch. Ten to seven, just right for cocktails.
Dusk had set in and on the strip the neon signs flashed boldly against the mauve evening sky. Long, smooth limousines, like glistening metal snakes, raced by, horns honked, the sidewalks were jammed. People seemed in a hurry, rushing pleasure-bent to their various destinations. The night seemed full of mysterious promise to Jack.
The atmosphere of the Can Can suited his adventurous mood. It was an intimate place; to the left was the rather small dining room with its intricate table lamps that threw a golden glow over immaculate table clothes. The walls were wood-paneled, with some painting here and there gleaming darkly. Suppressed laughter tinkled; the air was saturated with smoke and various heady scents.
Jack walked to the long, curving bar, sat on the only vacant stool, stared at the battery of bottles fronting a huge mirror. Two bartenders were kept busy.
"What will it be, sir?"
"Double bourbon on the rocks," ordered Jack. Might as well start this right, he decided, his eyes roving over the drinkers. Two young women giggled at the other end of the bar, now smiled boldly at him. They must have stepped straight out of some picture, reflected Jack. The silver-blonde's artful hairdo, and the grey eyes fringed by false lashes gave her face an artificial, glazed look. Her friend was the exotic type, raven hair worn straight back, sloe-eyed, with a lusciously large, promising mouth. He was just about to take his drink over there, when his neighbor's giggle made him turn his head.
"Don't waste your time, mister; those two are just teasers. They don't want any man; they please each other."
Jack looked at die girl next to him, sniffing her exciting perfume. Raven-black hair fell in deep natural waves to her green, silken shoulders, In the pale oval of her young face the eyes shone moist and inviting, dark and mysterious. The nose was straight and finely chiseled; her rather large mouth was blood-red. Beneath the stark-white coat of powder Jack detected the young skin.
As she moved her head, her green chandelier earrings swayed. "Like what you see?" she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Of course, this isn't really my face-it's my movie face I carry around."
"I can see through your disguise, and I find no fault with what I see." Jack smiled, his eyes running over the tight waist disclosing tender double swell of breasts. Her almost painful slimness delighted him; she was made up to look the femme fatale, but he guessed her to be seventeen. "What are you drinking?" he asked, sipping the excellent drink the bar man had deposited before him.
"Rum and coke," she said, "mostly coke. I don't really like hard liquor. It-it makes me feel raw inside."
Jack ordered her another drink and watched the tiny white hands on the glass. Baby paws, he thought.
"Ah, this tastes good. I was bushed." She put down the glass and as she smiled Jack admired the two dimples in her smooth cheeks. "I'm celebrating," she said. "My first day at work. Oh, it's no part really. I'm just an extra. But it's eating money."
"Here's to the beginning of your career-to a future star." The liquor ran in a mellow trickle down his insides making him feel light-headed.
"Oh, a few months in this town will convince any moon-struck girl that she's not what she dreamt to be. At Pleasantvdle, Iowa, it was easy to fancy myself a movie queen. But here connections are what matters...." She cocked a penciled eyebrow. "You by any chance in the game?"
"What game?" inquired Jack.
"I mean, connected with the studios, a director, or publicity man...." She frowned, "You look important."
"Sorry to disappoint you, little lady. I'm just an obscure lawyer, here to try a case. How about having dinner with me? I'm a stranger in town and you seem appealing company."
"Well-" she studied his face, her eyes taking in the well-tailored suit and new, expensive shoes-"I don't see why not. But I warn you, I have an immense appetite. I like steak."
"We like the same things. Now, shall we eat here, or where would you like to go?"
"Would it be too expensive-I mean, I'd like to go to that new French place, Charmaine's. A lot of studio people go there-and I like to be seen-with an important man like you," she added, batting her store lashes at him.
"Charmaine's it is, and I'm sure you'll be noticed there-as anywhere."
It was a small place; the white and gold dining room looked stiffly formal. Laughter and tinkling of glasses mingled in the smoke-drenched air. They had to wait at the bar for a table and without the bill Jack pressed into the Maitre D's palm it would have been a long wait.
Cutting into her juicy steak, the girl giggled. "Here you're buying me dinner and you don't even know my name. Informal, aren't we?" She smiled into Jack's eyes. "I'm Ninon Maine, that my stage name. Sounds Frenchy, hm?"
"You sure picked a famous name. Ever read about Ninon, the immortal French courtesan?" he inquired.
"Well, a boy back home-he always had his nose in history books-told me she never grew old. That intrigued me."
"Sometimes I shall tell you more about that illustrious namesake of yours," promised Jack. "I'm Jack Michaels-rather down-to-earth name."
She squinted. "It suits you, nice and solid. I'm tired of phonies." She attacked her steak and wasted no more time on conversation. She only sipped at the excellent Chateau Yquem and Jack finished the bottle by himself.
"Everybody here watches calories. Me, I eat while the eating's good." She finished the eclair and settled back, inspecting the diners. "Why, there's Myron Berg; he's the head of Lance Studios-that's where I work."
Jack's eyes followed her stare, centering on the bald-headed man with the fish face who sat at a corner table surrounded by various girls in flashy evening attire.
She pointed out different movie lights whose names were known to Jack. "They're on top; they got it easy now." She sighed. "It's a long, hard road and it leads over many couches."
"Does that worry you?" Jack's eyes were sharp.
She laughed gaily. "Only thing that worries me is that I might pick the wrong couch."
So this would be easy, reflected Jack. Apparently his dinner companion had dispensed with scruples.
"I'm sorry my legal connections won't help you. As for a couch-the one in my suite is very comfortable."
Her dark eyes told him that she was willing. "Well, why don't we find out-how comfortable it it?" She lowered her absurd, artificial lashes. "I'm not as shameless as you might think. You look substantial.
And I know you don't want things for nothing."
"A pretty girl like you needs a nice wardrobe. And tomorrow we'll go shopping," he promised.
He helped her into the green coat that matched the dress, following her into the foyer. She took his arm, staring entranced at the party of three. The tall man in tuxedo was helping a beautiful girl out of her fur wrap. Her hair was silver blonde and the violet eyes smiled up into the man's handsome face. Jack grew rigid staring at the full-slim figure in turquoise gauze.
"That's Myra Manners," whispered Ninon, pulling at his sleeve. "She's the author of Seed of Hate-the movie I work in."
No, it can't be, thought Jack, feeling feverish. Or, was it? Those violet eyes looked bigger with their heavy mascara, and the smile was more knowing.
He watched the girl re-arrange the two green orchids on her shoulder. "They're exquisite, Ted," she gazed into the blond man's eyes, patting him on the arm.
"Not as lovely as you." His lips touched her bare arm.
"Let's go," urged Ninon.
The girl and the tall man, followed by a heavy-set baldheaded man passed them and went inside. If it was Myra she hadn't noticed him; she was too engrossed in her blond escort, thought Jack bitterly, following Ninon outside.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the taxie, Jack was unaware that Ninon held his hand. Had he seen a ghost-a phantom from the past? A Myra lovelier than he remembered her, one more sophisticated and polished?
"You look so pale, Jack. Are you ill?" Ninon pressed his hand. "Seeing Myra Manners did things to you. Of course, she is lovely, but then, so are others."
"It's just-she reminded me of someone I knew. But of course it couldn't be the same girl. Did you say she wrote the movie you're working in?"
"Well, she wrote the novel which is now being adapted into a screen play. Lance Studios bought it before it was published. She's here to help with the adaptation ... She's stuck on that Ted Howell-he's the star of the movie. Imagine, a girl from Ohio nobody ever heard of-at least that's where she's supposed to be from-in die limelight. But that Ted will open her eyes to the facts of life. He's positively ruthless when it comes to women."
Ohio, he thought, relieved. Yes, it couldn't be his Myra. She would never cowtow to some dumb movie idol.
"It's really a good play; you should read the novel, Seed of Hate, I'm sure it's a best seller."
"I'll try to find time to read it," said Jack.
Ninon, worthy of her illustrious namesake, made him forget all about the phantom of Myra. She was playful like a kitten, soft and cuddly, wanting to please.
"The way you ate up that silver-blonde Manners woman, I was worried you didn't go for brunettes," she said, kissing him on the forehead.
They had dispensed with the couch and were on the bed, her slim, budding form stretched out close to him. His fingers rippled down her smooth back and he kissed the tip of her nose. "Nonsense, blondes always impress me as pale and passionless," he lied. "While you had passion written all over your dark charms." His hands drew her down over him and the soft feel of her flawless skin was wonderfully soothing and at the same time exciting. He cupped her breasts that resembled champagne goblets and kissed her shimmering, perfumed hair trying to forget the apparition of the silver-blonde goddess, knowing she could have nothing in common with his Myra.
Ninon was a charming child, eager to please, a child with experience. Her kisses touched and excited him, her velvet tongue made him quiver. She pulled at his hair, her tongue teased, her little fists beat a tattoo on his chest.
"You act so solemn, relax. You're my big teddy bear, and you're mine to play with." Her nose rubbed against his hairy chest; she tweaked his arm. Light as a leather, she fluttered over him, taunting, exciting.
He caught her in his arms and pressed her lithe-slimness to his chest. "You're my little nymph, Ninon. My playmate."
She wriggled, pretending to fight him, giggling, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. "I like you, Jack. I feel safe with you-protected. Hug me close."
He pressed her to him, his lips seeking hers. Her mouth opened to admit his tongue. She knew how to tantalize him, making him taut, ecstatic with longing. She pressed her pointed nipples into his flesh, rubbing up to him.
"See, I got you all up in the air," she giggled, detaching herself to marvel at his readiness.
He moaned and writhed under her artful administrations, finally letting go his pent up fervor, feeling waves of ecstasy spilling over him.
He watched her emerging from the bathroom, a snow-white, lithe pageboy, a mere snip of a girl. She has fire, . he thought, and her playfulness is touching. Yes, he would see as much as he could of her, he decided. She would banish the ghost of Myra.
She landed right on top of him, pulling at his hair. "You like your Ninon?" the eyes were brilliant and enormous, eating into her triangular face which now, bereft of make up, looked so young and vulnerable it made Jack ache with protective tenderness.
"You're the sweetest girl I ever knew," he said, knowing it was so. He kissed the soft eyelids, the peach blossom cheeks, and die elastic firm cups of breasts. "You look like a school girl," he kissed the top of her head.
"I'm almost twenty," she said. "And I know a lot about life," she added, proving it by her experienced kiss.
As she cuddled up to him, his nerve ends twitched. Desire again enveloped him, penetrating each pore of his body. He wanted her to fill his emptiness, wanted her to adore him, look up to him, be advisor and mentor to her. Here was one girl, young and quiveringly alive he could mold to his taste, one who would be appreciative, one who would never hurt him.
Her warm, soft skin rubbing against his own made him dizzy with wanting. His arms went about her, and his hands trailed down her back, fastened on the resilient flesh of her bottom. He had an odd desire to hurt her, to punish this white flesh, make it sore and red, asserting he was the master. He gave her one playful slap that made her giggle. The second time his palm hit her she cried out.
He shoved her aside and turned her over so she lay on her tummy, his eyes on the intriguing derriere. His heart pounded and a wild upsurge of pleasure dizzied him. He would punish this girl, make her suffer for what Gail had done to him. Yes, in this association he would be the master, to be catered to, cajoled and obeyed.
He stared at the enticing double mounds. He wanted to see them red and swollen, wanted her to cry out.
"You like it that way?" he heard her voice. "It hurts, but I don't mind." Her head was buried in the pillow; she didn't turn to look.
His hand zoomed through the air making contact with the soft skin. "Ouch," she cried out, trying to wiggle away. The second blow was even harder. The whole area was suffused in a deep rose. Jack felt like an executioner punishing a culprit. Mercilessly, not heeding her moans that became sobs, he belabored the tender flesh. Now his hands brushed over the sore spots to which he applied soothing lips. He was in a state of high excitement; his head reeled. Now he would take over and really possess his prey. Why turn her over? Her backside looked appealing. It was a novelty for him, but this was a new girl and a new start in debauchery. He knelt over her, his hands probing. He couldn't delay another minute.
"Please, it hurts," she cried out. His hands held her down while he indulged himself. As he came back from the bathroom, she lay on her side, her dark eyes brimming with tears, "And I thought you would be nice and gentle," she accused. "I'm sore all over."
He rushed up, knelt by the bed, kissing her face, his hands running lightly over her injured backside. "I guess die wildness in me came out, I'm sorry Ninon."
He lay down, holding her in his arms, feeling soothed and at peace. Yes, that was the way to handle a woman, show her right from the start who was boss. He even felt proud of himself. They slept close, his head against her breast.
Jack woke up first. Slowly his eyes came open and he stared at die black vines of hair sprayed over the pillow. Asleep, she looked like a high school kid, the dark curly lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. He had been cruel and hurtful last night. Now, staring at die slim white figure with the exquisitely rounded breasts, he felt ashamed. He would make it up to her. His hand reached, fondling one firm globe, then traded down to her flat belly. He felt full of vigor, rejuvenated, ready to start the day's work with lovemaking. As he kissed her half open lips, her eyes opened. She smiled, winding her arms about his neck.
"Morning, bruiser."
"I'm sorry-about last night. I-I don't know what came over me, I'm not a cruel type." He kissed one strawberry. "Are you too tired-I mean-would you mind?"
She sat up staring at his tautness unabashed. "I don't mind at all, darling. I see you're ready."
He kissed every inch of the white body, turning her over, fondling the bruised derriere with gentle fingers and tender lips.
"This time, I want to see your face." Giggling, she turned over, offering her enticing front view.
"You're my girl, Ninon." He kissed her lips, at first lightly, then their mouths fused, remained glued to each other till they parted for breath. Jack's pulse beat like a hammer, the blood was roaring in his veins. He topped her, his right knee separating her slim legs. Slowly he invaded, pressing deeper into delightful recesses, filling them completely. Thrusting forward he saw her eyes glazed in a foretaste of pleasure. Faster, now exploding in a burst of maddening pleasure, letting go, surrendering, losing himself, lost in ecstasy.
Her hands played with his hair while he remained where it was warm and soft. He never left the hiding place, hands clutching at her apples. Renewing his vigor without retreating, feeling strength flowing back. Resting, eyes closed, light-headed and content. Till he was ready once more to soar to another pinnacle of delight. Slowly he moved, feeling himself expand, now ready for another invasion.
This time it was a slow conquest, with careful, deliberate motion till once more he filled the narrow grotto. She moaned and twisted, her dark eyes like black diamonds, her hands digging into his shoulders.
"Oooh, oooh, Jack, this is the best."
The inner combustion in the tight chamber made him burn with a new flame of passion. The torrid lava poured forth, inundating die subterranean grotto. He moaned, pouring forth his desire into the chalice of her young, receptive body, feeling reborn.
They rested side by side. Jack's arm was about her shoulder, his head on her mantle of hair. He felt exhausted, unburdened and happy. He was a new man!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jack liked the primrose path; he felt all keyed up taking Ninon on a shopping spree. Unlike his spouse, Gail, she was modest in her desires, asking each time as the sales lady quoted the price of a dress or hat she liked, "May I have it, Jack? Or should I look for something cheaper?"
Now it was one p.m., and they sat in a little restaurant off Hollywood Boulevard, two huge boxes separating them. Ninon had not wanted to part with her new treasures; she would take them to her place in a taxi.
"It's a good thing I don't have to report for work today," she sighed, her hand brushing over the soft silk of the new burgundy dress that moulded her breast delightfully.
Jack smiled at the animated face beneath the little feathery nothing of a hat. She was a mere child, so easy to please. "Now Ninon, I shall be busy for the rest of the day-and evening." He saw the look in her eyes-sadness tinged with sarcasm. He patted her hand on the banquette. "I'm not shoving you out of my life. But you know that I'm here on business, and my associate is entertaining me at his home. But tomorrow night nothing shall interfere. It will give you time to rest."
"You sure you don't want a change?"
"A change of what?"
"A change of girl, I meant. Most men play the field."
"Not this man, Ninon. I consider myself lucky to have found a sweet girl like you."
"Want me to call you at your hotel tomorrow evening?" Her voice was full of doubt as were her eyes.
"We could make a date right now for you to come up to the suite ... Or, maybe it would be better if you phone me after six."
At die corner, he kissed her shamelessly in full view of some grinning spectators, before she got into the cab. He felt wonderful, years had slipped off his shoulders. Hading another taxi, he was ready for work with a clear head and a body light as air.
At six o'clock Tom Sweeney drove him home to his pleasant white stucco villa in the hills.
"Too bad your wife couldn't come with you," Mary Sweeney's soft brown eyes matched her dark blonde hair.
Jack noticed the excellent taste of her home which was well run. Dinner was exquisite. Now they were having coffee and brandy on the open terrace overlooking the slopes with gay cubes of houses buried in dark green. Lights ran like jeweled ribbons down to the ocean far below. The air was balmy and slightly perfumed.
As Mary went inside, Tom chuckled. "I bet you had yourself a high time last night. Interesting hunting ground, the Can Can, eh?"
Jack felt in a confiding mood; he knew he could trust Tom Sweeney. "Fact is, I had myself a wonderful time-for the first time in a long time. Met a really sweet girl. One who hasn't gone Hollywood. Apprecitative."
"You don't say. I thought that type had traveled Fast. Beware of the sweet ones, they can dig for gold where others find only stones...."A greedy look stole into his eyes. "You going to meet her later?"
"Tonight I reserved for you, Tom. But I'll see Ninon tomorrow. She's an extra in a movie. You probably know more about it than I do-Seed of Hate."
"Indeed I do-that is, Mary met some of the Lance studio crowd. They're the ones making the movie. Mary gets around more than I do; she makes it her business to meet all the big ones. Thinks it might help my business."
"You see, Tom, I'm not just another husband on the town. My marriage is all washed up...." He closed his eyes seeing Gail and her paramour in tight embrace. "I caught her-my wife-with another man ... Oh, it had been going on for quite some time. I was too busy-or too stupid to see it.
So, I'm catching up on my playing."
"Too bad. I hope it didn't cut too deep."
"I'm over it. Just got my ego blasted , ... And when I get back I hope she'll be gone, as I ordered her."
"You two better move, inside; it's going to pour." Mary stood in the door watching black clouds chasing the moon. "Tom catches cold so easily." She hooked her arm into her husband's and they all went inside.
They watched TV and had a few mo re drinks. Jack was intrigued by the crowded book shelves taking up one wall. He walked up to them. Mary right behind him.
"I'm an avid reader; helps to pass the time while Tom's away on business. Here, on that lower shelf are the latest books out. Care to take a couple with you to your hotel?"
"Why thank you, Mary, but I sincerely doubt I'll have time." He looked over the gay covers, pulling one out at random, putting it back. "Fact is, I'd like to get a copy of Seed of Hate, the movie that is being made at Lance studios. You don't happen to-"
"But of course." Mary pulled out a yellow and red bound tome. "I just finished reading it. Quite good, especially for a first novel. Here, take it with you."
After another half hour of lagging conversation Tom drove Jack back to the hotel.
"See you tomorrow at ten at the office I hope you won't be too lonesome."
The lobby was a bee-hive of activity. Bunches of people stood about in animated conversation; couples were lounging on settees garbed in evening clothes. Laughter hit his ears. His watch showed only eleven. He made his way to the bar; a night cap seemed in order. He had to stand up, every bar stool was taken. Drink in hand, his eyes wandered down the length of the bar and from there to the booths intimately lit by artful lamps. In the booth nearest to him sat a beautiful girl; her red hair waved down to her shoulders; two blue eyes smiled intimately at him. At him? He frowned, looked again. There could be no doubt, for now the girl waved a blue silken arm at him. He walked up to the booth.
"Oh, hello Jim, so glad you're here." A hand drew him down on the bench beside her and a voice whispered. "Please say hello, and act as if you knew me." Her beseeching eyes confused him. He inhaled her intoxicating perfume, stared at the young pale face with the large, violently painted mouth.
"Hello dear," he forced a smile to his lips and leaned back against the wooden partition. "Sorry I'm late." The waiter stood at their table. "What are you drinking, dear?"
"Scotch on the rocks," said her husky voice.
"Make mine the same." The waiter shuffled away and Jack put down his rain coat, feeling the bulk of the book Mary had stuffed into the large pocket. He frowned at the girl; he didn't want any more company tonight.
But she is beautiful, he thought, taking in the fine oval of her face in which the eyes burned blue-I black. Her midnight blue silk gown was low-cut showing the deep cleft between the full breasts. She wore no jewelry. Needed none.
They stared at each other wordlessly. Finally, she broke the silence. "Thanks," she said. "You are the gentleman you look. And I appreciate your helping me out." Her full lower lip trembled. "I-I was stranded-not even a buck in my purse." Her long lashes hid her eyes. "I was stood up. I should have known better than to hope Jerry would come through ... You see," her voice faltered on the brink of tears, "Jerry's my ex. He owes me money-and he promised to show and pay up."
Jack's voice was cool. Did he look like a sucker? "And what do you want me to do about it?"
"Oh now, don't get mad. I've had only one drink. If you'll pay for it I shall be most grateful." Now the tear-drenched eyes implored.
"Okay lady, stop the tears. We'll have a couple of drinks and you can invent a nice little tale of sorrow. Only make it short for I need to get some sleep."
She opened her purse and took out a spidery handkerchief, patting her eyes. "Thanks, you're swell. And I won't have to invent a story. Mine is sad enough. I'm a dancer, that is, I was till last night when that louse-my ex-turned up at the Lotus where I worked in the chorus and created a riot. Ergo, I was fired. Tomorrow I can collect my pay and start looking for another spot."
The waiter brought their drinks and they sipped in silence. The more Jack looked at the girl the more he liked what he saw. The full bosom outlined beneath the tight silk, the graceful fingers that toyed with the glass.
"A girl like you should have no trouble finding another boy friend," he said, itching to touch the red, shining hair.
"I don't want just any man. You kind of appealed to me. Nice and solid. No phony."
Yes, that's my trademark, nice and solid, he thought, and the thought made him smile.
He was about to order another round of drinks when she said. "Would you mind if I ordered a sandwich instead? I haven't eaten since last night."
He watched her wolf down the roast beef sandwich and wash it down with a cup of coffee. Now she looked up, a wide smile on her face.
"That was wonderful. Thanks. You know, most girls I know hit the bottle when they're down. Me, I get hungry ... Say," her deep-blue eyes bored into his face, "I bet you've got a wife in town. I wouldn't want to cause trouble ... If you want me to I can leave right now."
"No wife, and no one's waiting. Do you live nearby?" He wasn't really interested, just making conversation.
Her mouth sagged. "Till tomorrow-till I get my pay I-I don't live anywhere."
Did she expect him to fork out money for a place to sleep? She seemed to guess his thoughts.
"Don't worry, you have done your good deed. And I'll be going." She drew the blue coat about her shoulders and picked up her purse.
He never knew what made him say it.
"Just for tonight, and if you promise to leave early, you can sleep on the couch in my suite. I live in this hotel."
Her eyes looked like blue stars. She gripped his right hand and clutched it to her soft breast. "Mister, you saved my life. And I'm grateful. Oh," now she smiled, "name's Ann O'Malley."
"Just call me Jack," he said, paying the bill, angry at himself. What in the world made him do this?
But later, up in the suite, as Ann emerged from the bathroom looking like a foam-born Venus, her red hair dripping down her alabaster shoulders, he felt elated. This was his time to play, to sample and enjoy what he had missed. She was a full blown woman; her proudly erect breasts were like huge snow balls dotted by rose cones. Her hips were lyre-shaped, with the legs long and slim. As she walked toward him her breasts moved rhythmically. She kissed him hungrily and lifted her left breast for his caress. "I hope you like diem big."
In her white arms he forgot all about Gail, his faithless wife, and even the image of Ninon paled. She was full of fire and the big white body was bursting with vitality that stirred his passion. He kissed the big, soft breasts and caressed the resilient flesh of her thighs, fascinated by her small waistline.
Dizzy, his head on fire, he threw himself over the white figure now resting on the bed. He felt like one demented, starved, one who could never get enough. He tweaked her bottom, kissed her throat and sighed deeply as his head came to rest on the softest pillow.
He felt himself beset by a frenzy never before experienced; like a glutton he nibbled, savoured the alabaster richness, kissing her all over, pinching, digging his fingers into silken flesh.
As he now took possession she moaned low in her throat. This time it was different. She didn't just lie there, being possessed. She loved him back, She twisted and moved, met his rhythm, her eyes aflame, breasts bouncing. Her hands pressed him closer to her softness.
"Faster," she moaned, and he obliged, riding the wild mare, wanting to tame her, finally surrendering his strength with one final, shuddering thrust.
He slept like a baby, holding on to her breast, waking up as a stray ray of sun hit his cheek. His hand shot out ... She wasn't there. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. As he looked up he saw her all dressed, bending over. She was going through the pockets of his jacket, a sheepish expression on her crimson face as she met his eyes.
"I-I just wanted to hang it up in the closet," she said, straightening up. Her face was hard.
"You don't have to steal from me." His tone was icy. "Serves me right to take up with a whore." He lifted the jacket and extricated the wallet from the inside pocket, going through it carefully while she watched, her face tight. The money was all there. He lifted out a twenty and threw it on the floor. "Here, for services rendered. And you better go. Right now."
She picked up the bill, took her coat and stared at him, full of hate, "Thanks, sucker!" She ran to the door, opened it and was gone before he could say another word.
Jack sat down on the chair and laughed till the tears came. He couldn't stop laughing, He was a sucker, and it served him right. Hje stared at the rain coat on the floor and bent to pick it up. The book Mary had loaned him fell out. His eyes stared at the author's photograph on the back of the jacket. It was Myra!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For the following three hours Jack Michaels sat hunched on the couch, reading Seed of Hate, letting the truth of the tale sink in-that Gail had been the villain all along, and that Myra, who in the book was Gynthia-had loved the hero, himself, all along. In the book Myra was pushed off a cliff by ornery Gail and died. Jack snapped the book closed and frowned. Of course, this was a wild, concocted tale, but the part where the hero married the sister through the latter's sinister machinations bore a ring of truth ... Yes, his agile legal brain put all the facts into place-Gail-coming as a messenger, taking over with a vengeance, permitting Jack neither time nor thought to communicate with the faraway bride he, Jack, had foresaken so-to-speak at the altar.
Well, he arose, flexing his muscles, it was not too late. He would, he must see Myra and explain. As he now thought of the tall movie idol into whose eyes Myra had gazed worshipfully, he felt sick. Could his sweet Myra have changed that much to fall for an empty heel? The novel revealed to him that she possessed a keen insight into human nature. Yes, he had never really known Myra, had underrated her mentality.
He walked to the table and poured himself a stiff drink-a thing he'd never before done in the morning-he would see her, and she must hear him out! How to contact Myra? He phoned Lance Studios, was shifted from one department to the other, talked to secretaries, publicity departments. More secretaries, with no result. All these calls made him late for Tom Sweeney's office.
Tom sat behind his desk, watching Jack with furrowed brow.
In spite of a boring headache Jack concentrated on the business at hand. Later, as they sat in the semi-gloom of a paneled booth in Bob's Cellar moistening dry throats with martinis, Jack wondered whether to confide in Tom. But then, what could he lose? He had lost all when he lost Myra.
"I'm a sweet father confessor. Tell me all. I'm like a grave," encouraged Tom.
Over his second drink, avoiding Tom's eyes, Jack sketched the story of his marriage and the way it had practically come to an end. "At least as far as I'm concerned it's over. I ordered Gail to be gone when I return."
"Quite a story, and you think, or hope-to give it a happy ending? Meaning, you get die girl. The right one?"
"Meaning just that." Jack put down his fork. "I tried to contact Myra through Lance studios." ' "Waste of time. Now, as it happens, I think Mary can help."
"Your wife-how?"
"I told you she's chummy with a lot of important people. Also, well liked. And that includes some of the movie crowd. If I'm right, she mentioned something about a party Eudora Gibbs is throwing. You know, that busty columnist. It's day after tomorrow. I was going to invite you. Everybody will be there who's anybody. That should include the people from Lance Studios."
"Do you think Myra will attend?"
"If that Howell man does, she will. You've got competition there."
"I know." Jack closed his eyes and felt a stab of jealousy. "He's quite attractive-on the outside."
"He seems to have no difficulties with the ladies," quoth Tom. "But then, you were her first flame, and that counts in any woman's life." He pursed his meager lips. "Of course, she may have gone Hollywood-so many do."
"She's hardly that kind," retorted Jack.
But as Jack stood in Eudora Gibbs' living room door, Friday night, his eyes trained on the little group in the far corner by the buffet-the island representing Lance Studios in a sea of guests-he knew that he would face a new, different Myra.
That goddess with the frozen smile on the overly rouged lips, a creature as brittle and artificial as the false lashes that gave the eyes a starry brilliance, had nothing in common with the sweet, natural girl his mind loved. He was glad now he had Ninon's tender, exciting lovemaking to fall back on.
"Hello Jack," Tom Sweeney was by his side, patting him on the back. "Quite a crowd. Want to meet some celebrities? Over there, that girl with the rapacious mouth and the luscious figure, that's Nancy Dumont, US version of Bardot. Interested?"
"She's not my type, Tom. Besides, she is surrounded." Tom followed Jack's eyes that were fixed on die willowy figure of Myra Manners, all clothed in gold.
"She is a beauty, Jack. How about being reintroduced to her? Come on."
But someone tugged at Tom's sleeve who disappeared in the crowd. Jack was on his own. He took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, drained it, and felt up to anything. He decided to bide his time; he preferred to face Myra alone. He sat on a corner settee, keeping her golden figure in view.
Two rather plain girls stopped, their tanned backs to him. "Isn't he divine?" said the taller one.
"Just another hunk of male," quoth her plump friend. "I don't want any part of Ted Howell; he's vain as a peacock, rude, and ruthless with women."
"I don't care," sighed her friend. "I'd give anything to be in Myra Manner's place. She's got him hog-tied."
"You mean, right now he's sleeping with her. But that won't last. He changes women like shirts." They wandered off, leaving Jack burning. Was that blond ox sleeping with his woman? He arose and threaded his way through the crowd, approaching Myra who stood, champagne glass in hand, next to a grinning Ted Howell who was whispering something into her ear.
"But really, Ted," she whispered. Now her eyes grew frightened. The glass dropped from her fingers making a tinkling sound as it splintered to bits on the terrazzo floor.
"Jack," she whispered, standing motionless, the violet eyes shocked.
"Myra-what a wonderful surprise." Jack stepped up quickly, took her cold hands in his and kissed her on the cheek, ignoring Ted Howell who watched the scene with raised brows.
Slowly, Myra came back to the present. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips trembled. "Jack, what brings you here?" she asked lamely, trying to recover her equilibrium. Her face hardened and she peered over Jack's shoulder. "Is Gad with you?"
"I'm here on business-alone. And after reading Seed of Hate I'm a wiser and very sorry man. Could you spare me one hour of your valuable time? I have a lot of explaining to do."
"It's a bit late, don't you think? Let's forget the past. I have."
"But I never have-forgotten you. A criminal is not denied his day in court, Myra." Ted Howell spoke up. "Want me to take you home, Myra? It's getting late. That is, if your friend doesn't mind."
"Ted, meet Jack Michaels. No use getting flustered. After all, he's family-he married my sister."
The two men shook hands without enthusiasm.
"And, being family, it's in order I bring you up to date, Myra." He took her arm and pulled her away. "If you'll excuse us, Howell."
"Don't be late on the set, Myra. Eight o'clock." Howell's voice was hard as steel.
On the white flagstone terrace the air was delightfully cool. They were alone. Jack pulled up two chairs. "Better sit down, Myra. I have some explaining to do."
She turned her head and searched his face. "You haven't changed too much, Jack. You look prosperous. Marriage with Gail hasn't harmed you." Her tone was cutting.
"That's where you're wrong. I came here alone-on business. And when I get back there will be no Gail ... I read Seed of Hate-it opened my eyes."
"It's just a story," she said, looking into the blue-black night.
"It is a true story, with Gail as the villain she is and me-as the sucker."
Her violet eyes inspected him; her voice sounded indifferent. "For a sucker you look pretty contented. And prosperous. Is Gail sick? I can't imagine her foregoing a trip to the glittering city."
"Didn't you hear me? When I get back there will be no Gail ... We're all washed up."
"That's too bad. But you don't seem too unhappy about it. Who's the next Mrs. Michaels? I guess you have her waiting...."
Jack took the white hand and pressed the slim fingers. "She's sitting right next to me ... I'm holding her hand." His voice came out choked, his face was flushed.
"Don't be silly." She pulled her hand away. "Once, a long time ago, I would have listened to your words. Now I know better. You presume a lot. I have grown up-one does. I'm not the trusting silly girl you knew, Jack. Yes, I should be grateful to you, for without the experience you provided Seed of Hate would have never been written. That Gail disappointed you is too bad-but not surprising. Better luck next time." She arose and walked toward the French doors.
Jack rushed after her, but he was too late. He saw her leaving the party on Ted Howell's arm.
Tom Sweeney found him brooding in a corner. "Well, talked to your dream girl? I guess she won't listen. Too bad. Come on, let's leave."
During the ride they were silent, but before leaving the car at his hotel, Jack patted Tom's back.
"Thanks Tom, very nice party. And, will you do something for me, Tom."
"Just mention it."
"No matter how, get me Myra's address and private phone number."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
What shall it be, your place or mine?" Ted Howell's grey eyes inspected her pale face, leaving the road for a moment.
Myra looked ahead at the thinning out traffic and listened to the soft purr of the Merdedes. "If you don't mind, Ted, just get me home. I'm tired."
"Is your former sweetie coming to see you later, to make up for lost time?" His voice was, nasty.
"Don't be foolish. He's no sweetie and I never want to lay eyes on him again."
"I'm sorry you're not in the mood. For, I am-in the mood for a little bed-tangling. So, make up your mind right now. I don't intend to sleep alone tonight." His tone was insolent, rude even.
She turned her head and looked at his classic profile, the thin-bridged, acquiline nose and the full, sensuous lips. Did she want to lose him? He pleased her, and his body, lank and lean and powerful, had given her unsuspected delight. She touched his wrist, feeling the crisp hairs.
"Is that all I am to you? Just another woman. Won't you allow me the privdege of being alone-this night only."
"You may have all the privileges you want, Myra. But so have I-the privilege to call Anya. Of course, I'd much rather wake up with you," he added, plastering the famous smile on his lips.
She stared at his smooth cap of blond hair, wanting to slap his face. Then her eyes went to his strong brown hands on the wheel-hands that held magic, hands that knew how to coax the fire out of her body. She didn't want to lose him; he knew how to please her as no other man before had. For one moment Jack's serious face seemed to beckon; but she shoved that memory back into her darkest subconscious.
"Well, make up your mind, doll. We're right near my bungalow. Okay?" His brown, lean hand touched her arm and she sighed.
"Okay. But I've to be back at my place at six-thirty."
He abstained from telling her that there were taxis and turned the corner, halting at die last house in the quiet street.
Holding hands, they walked across the flagstone path that led up the white house shrouded in greenery. He opened the door with his key and entered the dim foyer behind her. Although this was her fourth visit here she felt the same stir of adventure as she walked over die white bearskin rug, entered the spacious bedroom all done in brown and gold. The stiff brocade curtains looked like temple columns, and the extra-wide bed appeared to her like an altar with die two six-pronged candelabra keeping watch.
"Nothing like candle light to bring out warm flesh tones," he said, touching a match to the pale yellow candles. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to my dressing room to get comfortable."
She smiled, watching him disappear. By now his mania to undress alone didn't seem strange to her any more. She draped her white fox cape over a chair and unzipped the golden dress, slipping it over her head and placing it on another chair. Standing before the triple mirror, she stared at her pale face with die luminous violet eyes. Her arms lifted to unhook the filmy lace bra and she watched her full breasts spring forward like eager, soft kittens. She kept her tan lace panties on, also garter belt, stockings and spike-heeled golden slippers. Ted wanted it that way.
Sitting down before the large, glass-topped dresser, she stared at the array of bottles, crystal flagons of all sizes and shapes. She lifted the silver-backed comb and drew it through her loose waves, making her hair billow like silvery foam down to her white shoulders. Why am I here?" she thought. I mean almost nothing to Ted-just another girl. Anya, whoever she was, would satisfy him as well. Nothing lasting could come of this affair, engineered by her. To this spoiled egomaniac she was just a pastime ... While Jack who had left her and had broken her heart wanted her now forever. Nonsense, I'm melodramatic, she told herself. I'm going to enjoy this as much as he does. "Hello, sweetheart."
He stood in the door, posing. She arose and walked up to him, admiring his bronzed torso, the broad shoulders and straight, muscled legs. Her eyes fastened on the leopard skin jock strap.
"Like it?" He touched himself and stood, waiting to be admired.
"It looks-promising." She threw her arms about his neck and nibbled at his ear lobe, trembling at the contact with his cool, scented skin. "Hm," she sniffed, "a new scent."
"Got it yesterday, directly from Dunhill's. No one else out here's got it. I like everything exclusive-including my women." His lips brushed over her cheek, found her warm open mouth that fastened on his. Lighdy, his fingers danced on her back. Now he parted her legs with one knee and allowed her to feel his excitement.
"I wish we could do it differently tonight." He freed himself and looked at her full, round breasts. "You know, of course, your bubbies are phenomenal." He jabbed at the impudent, deep-rose turret with his forefinger, pressing down, then releasing it abruptly, watching it jut out provocatively. "I could guess their size under that tight white blouse-that first time we met in the commissary." He was amused at the flush that covered her cheeks. "No need being bashful." He hefted the heavy round balls, rubbing them against each other. "Polishing marbles," he chuckled, now bending forward and taking a bite of the red nipple. "Two nice apples for teacher. And, haven't I been a fine teacher?" Her eyes yessed him...."You were pretty uneducated in matters sexual," he stated. "But you learned fast. You're almost as good as Anya-of course, her breastworks are bigger than yours. Also, being a brunette, she's got dates in place of strawberries." Again, he made them bounce.
Slowly, he slipped off the dainty panties and unhooked the garter belt, rolling down her stockings. She lifted her right leg and he took off die cobwebby stocking, holding her tiny foot in his palm. "Nice aristocratic instep," he muttered, bending low to kiss each lacquered toe. Then repeating the ritual with her left foot.
His hand slithered up her legs, caressed the ample thighs and now fastened about her waist. His tongue titillated her navel, making her tremble.
"Darling, take off my jock strap and see what Papa's got for you."
With fumbling fingers, she undid the tight band, letting it drop to the rug.
"Like it?" He smiled fatuously. "Do homage to it."
She knelt down on the rug and her white fingers teased. Her blood roared and rising excitement made her feel faint.
"I want you," she whispered as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, depositing her gently on die tan silk sheet. She closed her eyes waiting for his knowing caress, now feeling the naked velvet of his tongue laving her body. His hands clutched her breasts and she sighed with' delight. Her legs opened; she was waiting.
He sat down on the edge of die bed and lit a cigaret. Her eyes opened to his sarcastic smile. "I've spoiled you." He blew smoke rings to the ceiling. "Now, aren't you glad you came." His left hand traced circles on her thigh.
"Darling, do it to me." Her eyes were almost black.
"Sure you want me to?" With deliberate slowness he extinguished the cigaret and his blond head bent over her. Lightly his tongue danced over exposed rosiness, lingered, stopped.
"Don't stop now, please."
Under his knowing manipulations she dissolved, her nerves twitched, her hands pulled at his hair. She was soaring up to a remote cloud, dangling, convulsed with pleasure. She moaned and a deep sigh escaped her as he coaxed ecstasy from her shivering body.
She didn't want him to stop and leave her. But he did, walking into the bathroom.
As he came back she was sitting up in bed, wanting to give back as she had received. He pressed her back down on the sheet. "Tonight, I want it straight," he said. "Takes too much out of a man the other way."
Suddenly she didn't want any part of this egocentric maniac. She tried to get up but his cruel hands wouldn't let go. She saw Jack's tender eyes, wanting it to be him who was taking her. Now she felt herself brutally invaded, torn open, feeling the lance thrusting deeper. Pushing, shoving. Faster. Deeper. Finally making her participate in his mounting excitement. He plunged forward, moaned, and surrendered his manhood. Now he found her lips and kissed them. She twisted and freed her mouth. "Jack," she whispered.
He withdrew and stared down at her pale face. His eyes were dark with fury. He slapped her cheek again and again, watching it turn crimson.
"The name is Ted," he hissed, getting up and staring down at the white, luscious body. "I'm going into the bathroom, and when I get back, I want you gone."
Myra jumped out of bed, ran to the mirror and looked at the red, swollen cheek. She felt like a woman lost. She hated Ted Howell and never wanted to see him again. It had all been a terrible mistake. She dressed in utmost hurry and slipped out of the door, hoping to find a cab.
She walked for six blocks, blinded by her tears, hating herself and hating Ted Howell even more. Finally a cab stopped and brought her to her hotel suite.
And now she was alone with herself, miserable and lonely. She had behaved stupidly. It would be awkward to see Ted on the lot, which could not be avoided. Also, she had made an enemy; she knew his nasty tongue. And she didn't even know how to reach Jack Michaels. Maybe he had already left for San Francisco.
Sheet wrapped tightly about her shivering body, she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jack was sitting in the lounge waiting for Ninon, wondering how to end this abortive aflair in a gentlemanly way. Was there any such way to tell a girl you had enjoyed her services, but now playtime was over? There she was now, looking like a tulip in the yellow dress with hat to match he had bought her.
Her eyes danced as she saw him. "Hello, darling." Before he could prevent it, she kissed him smack on the mouth and sank down beside him on the settee. "You look tired. Overworked." She pressed his hand. "You know, I was afraid you wouldn't be there."
"But we made a date," he countered, admiring the wavy black hair framing her face. "I never stood anybody up in my life." Only my bride, he diought....
"I'm sorry. I do know you are reliable. Different from the others. And I have good news."
"Yes, what news?" He became increasingly worried; he wanted not to be involved in her life, yet he hated to hurt her.
"I got a real part now in the picture. I say five lines. And they'll see my face on the screen."
"That's fine." He tried to appear interested. "Shall we have dinner here?"
"Oh, I have eaten. Let's go up to the suite." Her eyes invited, her pouting lips challenged.
"Ninon, there's something I want to discuss with you." He saw her face change, her mouth tighten. "Okay, let's go upstairs." It would be easier, more private, and he could give her the envelope with the money after explaining. They rode up the elevator in silence. He unlocked the door and went inside after her, closing the door.
She took oil the yellow hat and placed it on a chair, walked into the bathroom to comb her hair and now came out, holding out her arms to him. He kissed her cheek and made her sit down next to him on the couch ... Her dark eyes were grave, her lower lip trembled.
"You're a sweet girl, Ninon, and I am glad and proud to-have known you well. And, if I were free-who knows ... But it so happens I'm a married man-and ... well, playtime's over."
With consternation, he watched two glossy tears roll down her cheeks. "Here," he took the handkerchief from his vest pocket and dried her cheeks. "I didn't tell you any stories. And I want you to think of me as a friend."
She threw her arms about him and pressed her wet cheek to his face, sobbing. "Jack, I love you. You're die first man who's been-good to me." She found his mouth and pressed her lips to his. Automatically, in a protective gesture, his arms went about her shaking frame.
"Nonsense, you just mistake liking for love. A nice-looking, sweet girl like you can do better than me." He cradled her in his arms as if she were a baby and kissed the silky hair.
She sat up and looked at him, her eyes full of tenderness. "I can't explain it-how I feel about you. I-somehow I feel safe with you. Protected. Will you let me stay the night? I just want to sleep in your arms."
Her dark eyes implored and his resistance melted. After all, nobody was going to be hurt, and it would make her happy. And tomorrow she would leave his bed and his life forever.
"It's kind of foolish, but if you want to."
She covered his lips, cheek and chin with glad kisses, disappeared into the bathroom while he undressed, already sorry he hadn't let her go. He wanted to be alone, to plan and think about the future, a future that included Myra.
But as her soft, pliant body clung to him he took her in his arms and kissed her with rising passion, damning his weakness. He thought of Myra who most likely was doing the same thing-making love to that Howell man-and let himself go. They did everything. Straight, the continental way, and he thought that it would make him an expert lover, one whom Myra would not find wanting. And when it was over and they were resting, his head pillowed on her breast, she coaxed him back into excitement. They strained against each other and, nerves on end, head dizzy and his blood pounding madly, he exhausted himself once more, utterly and completely, making her tremble in joyful, exquisite agony.
They fell asleep, arms about each other, having reached their limit of endurance.
Someone was knocking at die door in his dream. He moved and rubbed his eyes, then stared at die dark hair on the pillow. Someone was knocking at the door. He sat up and looked at the alarm. Seven o'clock. Now who-The knocking didn't stop.
He jumped out of bed, slipped into his robe and went to the door, calling without opening it. "Yes, who is it?"
"It's me, Gail, open up."
He froze. Half turning, he saw Ninon's dark, anxious eyes. He pointed to the bathroom, putting one finger to his lips in warning. She understood. Quick as a flash she jumped out of bed, picked up her underwear from the chair and ran into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.
More knocking. "You better open up, or do you want me to call the manager?"
He unlocked the door, opened it, and Gail stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her suspicious eyes went over the room. He frowned, taking in her smart appearance, the artfully made up face and the new green suit he'd not seen before.
She smiled, her eyes sarcastic. "Surprise.-I thought by now you might miss me." She meandered to the couch, took off the green felt hat and the jacket, draped them over a chair and sat down, crossing her legs.
"Gad, I told you I never wanted to see you again. And I meant it. How dare you hunt me up?"
"Is that so strange? After all, I'm still your wife. Also, there are things we have to discuss." She stretched her slim, nyloned legs and smiled mysteriously. "I've got news for you-news that changes any and all decisions."
He paced up and down, feeling ridiculous in his bare feet, desperately scheming how to get her out of there.
"Look Gad, I have no idea what brought you here-after our marriage has, as I told you, come to an end. But I simply have to get dressed and ready to be at die office. So, why don't you take a stroll and I'll meet you somewhere for lunch?"
"I don't like to stroll at seven in the morning, I prefer to rest here in your nice, mussed up bed. I left my grips downstairs. You better phone for them to be brought up. I need a change and, most of all, a shower."
Jack couldn't take this standing up. He slumped into a chair. "Now Gail, really, I have to shower and get dressed. Not a moment to spare."
She eyed him, suspicions written all over her face. "You seem in an awful hurry to get me out of here. Expecting somebody?" She arose and walked up to the dresser, inspecting her flawless coiffure in the mirror, loosening tight curls with her fingers.
Then she saw the pink half slip on the low bench. She held it up between two fingers and inspected its lacy trim.
Jack sat there petrified, cold sweat trickling down his arm pits.
"I see you have a visitor." She turned to him, her green eyes ablaze with fury. "And unless that visitor left in a hurry she must still be here." She walked into the adjoining sitting room and came back, staring at die closed bathroom door. "Yes, I think I'll take that shower now."
She charged toward the door and was about to yank it open, when the door opened revealing a completely dressed Ninon who stepped out, hat on, pock-etbook under her arm.
Gail barred her way, hands on slim hips, eyeing die girl malevolently. "So, you're my husband's tramp. What did he pay you for the night?" Her eyes evaluated gown and accessories. "Well, what's your price-by the hour?"
Jack stepped up, putting a restraining hand on her arm. "I permitted the young lady to use the facilities of the bathroom," he stated lamely.
"You keep out of this, Jack. Now, you better get out of here if you know what's good for you." Gail's hand shot out, slapping Ninon's cheek hard, first the right one, then changing over to the left. "Get out you whore, leave married men alone," she screamed, hitting the girl mercilessly.
Jack yanked her away, keeping her arm in a tight grip. "Stop screaming, I can't afford a scandal."
"Who cares?" Gail tried to wrest loose; tears of rage wetted her cheeks. "Out, hussy."
Ninon looked at Jack; it was a sad look, full of desperate humility. She rushed to the door and was gone.
Jack listened to the high heels clicking down the corridor. He let go of Gad and closed the door.
"And now you can take you departure. Here," he picked up her hat, coat and pocketbook, shoving them under her nose, "take your duds and leave."
Gail stared at him and shook her head. She headed for the couch and sat down, her eyes boring into him. "So, Mr. Moral has a hussy with him. Did you enjoy her? Well, now we're even. You see, I'm more tolerant than you are. I'm even willing to forget this-escapade and we can start all over again."
Dumbfounded, he watched her taking off the green dress, take off the high-heeled pumps. She stood up, yanking off the lacy bra walking up to him. "See how firm they are, fuller, wouldn't you say?" She pushed diem up to his face and he recoiled.
"Gail, can't you get it through your head that I want no more of you. I'll give you the fare to Vegas and I'll also take care of legal expenses. You could leave on the first plane out," he suggested.
"I could, couldn't I? And that would just be dandy for you so you can call up your whore ... Well, brother, you've got another thought coming." He watched as she tore off the transparent panties, un-snapped the garter belt. Now she stood, legs wide apart, throwing die slightly rounded, smooth belly out. "See this?" Her palm rotated slowly over the pearly mound. "Nice and round, not flat as it used to be. And," she cackled shrilly, "it's going to be high as a mountain." He stared at her dumbfound-,ed. "Know why? Can you guess? It's simply that you got me pregnant."
He slumped over in his chair, staring at the rug. Trying to co-ordinate his rambling thoughts. Now he looked at her, his face forbidding.
"You should have been more careful. That comes from playing around...." Then he added. "Are you quite sure?"
"Dr. Powell is," she stated. "And, according to my figuring, it's your child ... You see, I was careful when I played around. But not with" my husband...."
His head was sunk on his chest. Caught, he thought. Doomed. She had him where she wanted him. For, as she had shrewdly calculated, knowing the way he thought, he would not abandon her, uncertain as to whether the child she was carrying was his own, or someone else's. A child, he thought, a son of my own, someone to carry on where I leave off. Or-a bastard, sired by that beatnik pianist or some other chance lover.
"There are blood tests to ascertain paternity," he stated.
"Well, I'm willing to take such a test," she countered. "It's still too early for that. But, iii the meantime I'm still your wife. And I'll take the privileges of a wife. You better phone for my luggage. Or, shall I?"
He walked to the phone and did as told, feeling a hundred years old. This was the end of all dreams. He wanted to get out, get away from her. Being in the same room with her urged him to violence.
"If you don't mind I shall use the bathroom now and get to the office. Then you can do as you wish."
He took all his clothes with him into the bathroom and closed the door, wanting to think, to figure out some way out of this ordeal."
As he emerged, fully dressed, she was opening one of the two grips. "When will you be back?" she asked amiably. "I hope we can have dinner at some interesting place."
He glared at her. "Don't count on it. You better try to amuse yourself. You're on your own." He walked out slamming the door behind him.
Going down in the elevator, he wondered how she had found out where he was staying. But of course, that was easy. Probably she had phoned his office, giving some other name. As he moved, he heard the rustle of paper. The envelope with Ninon's money was in his breast pocket. He would call her place, or better, send it to her. He wanted her to have it.
Eating breakfast in the coffee shop around the corner, he wondered about his next move. He was hog-tied to a wife he detested. There must be some way out. And now he thought of Myra lost to him forever. Of course, he could still force Gail to a divorce and when the child came he would take care of it. Whose child? he thought bitterly. Considering this from the legal angle there was always a way out. The trouble was his conscience would not allow him to use any loopholes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gail stood at the window, looking out at die blue sky, a smile of triumph on her lace. Janice Bailey had proven a good friend. Also, smart. And shacking up with her for three days had been a small price to pay for getting rid of the encumbrance-that unwanted brat. Janice had loaned her the money for the abortion and it hadn't been much worse than going to the dentist. Only, less hygienic. She shuddered, seeing herself prone on that bare kitchen table, watching the fat woman approach, instrument in hand. All she needed, the ex-nurse had advised afterwards, was to take it easy.
Well, that was exactly what she had in mind. She had Jack where she wanted him-worried. And, in due time she would have a fall and announce sadly that there would be no baby. Jack was as dumb as ever to the ways of women. Meantime, she would be agreeable and accommodating. Thus her marriage was safe-till the right guy came along.
Now she thought about that intriguing-looking brunette Jack had been keeping in his room. I have underrated my husband, she reflected. He still can pick them. Well, she would hold that over his head in case he became difficult.
She walked into the bathroom and stood in front of die mirror, fondling her nice round breasts. They looked better than before. The slight mishap had not impaired their looks. Humming, she went under the shower rubbing her skin to a pink glow. She would nap a little, get dressed, and take a walk about town. Sometime that husband of hers had to come back.
She donned her Chinese pajamas, a gift of Janice, then walked up to the dresser, pulling out drawers, running her hand beneath piles of shirts and underwear, finding nothing. He had taken his briefcase along. Nothing to read. She looked at two fat volumes on the desk. Law books. She saw the gaily colored book and picked it up. Seed of Hate, an intriguing title, she reflected. As she turned the volume in her hand her eyes stared spell bound at Myra's portrait. The book shook in her hand; she had to sit down.
She spent the next few hours reading, now dropping the book on the rug. Her little sister had soared to celebrity hoisting herself on Gail's hate. It was too funny. And somehow Jack had found out, had read, and now knew she, Gail, had connived to marry him ... Where was Myra? And had the two of them gotten together? It would be interesting if she and Gail met. She wondered whether writing the book, Myra had rid herself of her love for Jack. Her own position, she felt, was unassailable. She called room service and ordered a nice complete breakfast, no use spending her own money.
She was at her third cup of coffee when the phone rang. Should she? But of course, who knows, it might be some other doll eager for Jack's dough.
She listed the receiver. "Yes?"
"May I speak to Jack Michaels, please?"
Gad gripped the receiver tightly, trying to find her voice. "Myra," she said, "is it really you? How wonderful." She perched on the side of the chair.
She heard the deep intake of breath at the other end of the wire, then Myra's voice, very low. "Gad, what are you doing in Los Angeles?"
"Most natural thing in the world-I came to join Jack. Or, didn't he tell you? I suppose you two got together," she added...."Oh, I just had a chance to read your book. Very clever-and illuminating. And although I came off as the vdlain I enjoyed the story. What are you doing in this town?"
There was a long silence. Then Myra's voice, sounding flat. "They're making it into a movie. I'm here to help with the adaptation. I-I ran into Jack accidentally at a party, and I was wondering-wanting to know how you were."
"How sweet of you. And I'm just fine. I'm aching to meet you-I don't know any celebrities. I hope you wrote it all off-your hate, I mean, in the book. Now we can be friends."
"Well, glad everything's okay with you. I am rather busy. I'll give you a ring."
"Not so fast. After all, you're the only sister I have. So, why not get together?"
"I have a crowded schedule."
"So has Jack. But I have time on my hands. How about cocktails down here, in the lounge? Say about six?"
"I'll see whether I can. I'll give you a ring. So long." The receiver went down on the other end.
Meanwhile, Myra was dressing for her date with Sid Graham. Not that she wanted so see her ex-lover for sentimental reasons. It was good publicity, she had been told. For the forthcoming movie. Her head was reeling and she tried to put some order into her thoughts. Sitting at her dresser, painting her lips an enticing new mauve shade, she recalled the phone conversation with her sister Gail. Somehow, seeing Jack at that party without her, Myra had figured she had left his life. Also, from what he had let her know ... But apparently Gail was still very much in the picture. She, Myra, was through with that vain Ted Howell, that was certain. It had been a mistake. The man was utterly hollow, bereft of feeling, a two-legged ego. And seeing Jack again had awakened the old feeling. Was it dead? Should she meet Gail, see both of them together, and-find a new love for herself? Men were after her now more than ever; she could pick and choose. Also, another book had taken shape in her mind. Maybe writing was her life and men would be just a pleasant pastime. But her heart was yearning, beating unruly in her breast.
She arose and flattened the tight grey skirt over her hips. The embroidered sky-blue sweater revealed the rounded contours of her breast. The new tousled hairdo made her look impish. Yes, she thought, walking into the living room, she would have no trouble finding a man.
She went to open the door to Sid Graham's impatient knock.
"Hi gorgeous." He bent to kiss her cheek, then stepped back to really look at her. "Hm, looks appetizing. And I'm starved." His arms wrapped about her and he kissed her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue. "Saved a little for me?" he whispered, pressing himself against her.
"Stop it, Sid." She freed herself. "This is business." She preceded him to the couch. "I'll just get my hat and coat."
He draped his lanky frame over the green upholstery, his fingers running through his unruly shock of red hair. "And I thought we'd spend a little time together-alone."
She had her hat and coat on, facing him. "Now Sid, we had a nice interlude. Now let's be friends."
"Lovers are the best friends," he said, pulling her down beside him, taking off the pert blue hat and flopping it down on a nearby chair. "And in this business, baby, you need friends. I intend to do a profile on you. Of course, I like this profile best." His hands were on the sweater, fondling what was beneath it. "Take off that coat." He slipped it off her shoulders so she had to get out of it not to wrinkle it. "You know, I really go for you. You're so nice and fresh. Unspoiled. Much too good for that despoiler of women-Howell. I had to slap him down. He talks too much."
"You mean-he talked about me?"
"Well, I shut him up. But in the future keep away from those screen lovers. Now, do I rate a kiss as defender of your reputation?"
He didn't wait but took her in his arms and she let him kiss her, clutch her breasts, feeling excitement getting the best of her. And why not? she thought. The best way to forget about one man is to get involved with another. She stared at Sid's angular face in which the huge nose was a rocky promontory, at his thin lips and the stubborn chin. His small grey eyes were alert as was his brain.
"Now will you take off that cute sweater and that form-fitting skirt, or shall I?"
She slipped off the sweater, unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it, depositing both on a chair.
"Hm, fascinating." He passed his long tongue over his lips, evaluating her. He arose and unhooked die bra that fell to the rug. His hands reached forward clutching big snow balls. "They feel wonderful. Like swansdown." The half slip and panties came off. He undid the garter belt, rolled down her stockings and took them off. "Delightfully delicious." He turned her around and let his eyes wander along the landscape of her body. "There is no one lovelier than you," he whispered, kissing her nipples. He lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, depositing her gently on the sheet.
Unashamed, she watched him undress. She intended to enjoy herself. All lanky leanness, he stood over her, kissing her eyes, cheeks and lips, settling on her soft throat.
"I know what baby likes," he knelt by the bed, laving her body with light, fluttering tongue.
Myra closed her eyes, feeling her nerve ends twitch. Her mind was at rest, her blood was clamoring.
She felt his hand separating her legs. Her hands gripped his coarse hair, she trembled and glowed. He probed and she finally melted, surrendered to the moment, letting go of pent up excitement.
Myra was floating on a rosy cloud, shrouded in euphoria, bathed in sunlight. Bewinged.
"I think I'll take mine straight, if you don't mind," from far away she heard his voice. Back to earth she zoomed and her eyes came open as his lean body buried her whiteness. "Want to look at me before and after?" He lifted and showed himself. "When they dished them out I got more than my share," he chuckled, and she felt herself blush.
But she didn't avert her eyes. His maleness had shocked and frightened her the first time, now it excited her crazily. She herself .put the lance to the gate and he stormed inside. She twisted and wriggled, moaning softly. Her head felt dizzy, her heart pounded. She cried out with excitement as his hand clutched at her breasts. He moved deeply into alien territory. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper. "Now, darling." She shuddered, feeling flooded, drowning with excitement sharing the climax.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gail was putting the finishing touches to her toilette. The slinky midnight blue jersey hugged her curves lovingly, and the clever cut accentuated her perfect, new breast. She ran her fingers through her artfully tousled hair. No matter how beautiful Myra might be, she, Gail, was not afraid of that competition any longer. For she knew now how to use her provocative charms cleverly. The wide mouth painted a deep red, looked like a passion flower, and the mauve eye shadow enhanced the brilliance of her green eyes.
She was debating whether to leave Jack a note that she and Myra were in the lounge, or whether to call the suite later, when he walked in.
"Oh darling, I was just leaving you a note." She walked up to him and took off his hat, smoothing his hair with light fingers. "You look like you could use a pickup Better freshen up a bit. Guess who we are meeting at the lounge bar?"
"We are not meeting anybody; you run along, I'm bushed."
"Well, in that case, shall I give sister Myra your best?"
The coat dropped to the floor; he blinked. "Did you say Myra? How-how did you get in touch with her?"
"I didn't have to, she called. So I made the appointment. Isn't it wonderful, my dear little sister, the famous novelist?" She beamed at him.
"Did she want to speak to me?" he asked naively.
"apparently. So, she must have a yen to renew your old-romance." In her mouth the word sounded obscene.
"You run along," he passed a weary hand over his forehead. "I'll join you shortly. In the lounge, did you say?"
"Dear, you heard me the first time." She pecked his cheek, picked up her mink stole and purse and floated out of the room leaving a trad of Shalimar behind.
Just like that, thought Jack, sitting down to gather his errant thoughts. As if they had been loving sisters ... What made Myra consent to this meeting? But she had called him, that meant she wanted to see him. He would not fad her.
In less than fifteen minutes he had showered and shaved and donned his new charcoal suit. Lord knows what might have happened by now between those two. There might be a hair-pulling.
But when he entered the bar, he saw Gad and Myra and a tall thin man with a shock of red hair sitting in the last booth in animated conversation.
"Oh there you are, Jack." Gail was all smiling graciousness. "Doesn't Myra look terrific-so Holly-woodish. And she brought a boy friend along. Meet Sid Graham. Sid, my husband, Jack Michaels," she introduced. Jack shook the man's bony hand and sized him up as a sharp character.
"Evening Myra. You look lovely as ever." He sat down next to Gail, facing Myra, perturbed by the change in her. The new sophisticated hairdo and the glossy make up made her a different girl. She wore a daringly cut grey silk dress that out-and underlined the richness of her breast. And he wondered whether the three sparkling bracelets were real.
"Thank you, Jack. Hollywood agrees with me." Her enticing smile was for Sid, not him. "You do look a bit tired. But then, Gail told me how hard you work."
Gail was shamelessly flirting with Sid, laughing at some joke he told her, leaning across die table, their heads almost touching. Let her, thought Jack. All I want is to have Myra alone to myself, make her listen to me.
"You know, I really had forgotten how you look," said Myra.
"I have never forgotten Myra-nothing." He put empathy in his low voice, his dark eyes beseeched.
"Some things are best forgotten," she said lightly. "As one gets older one gathers experience along the way. What seemed drama once, may now seem simply comical." Her voice was flat, no glimmer of expression showed on her face.
Jack looked at Gail and Sid who were chuckling, heads close together. From there, his eyes went to Myra. Obviously that Graham man didn't mean much to her. She didn't waste any looks on the two of them.
"Myra," he kept his voice low, "can you ever forgive me ... You know how Gail operates, and now I know it too. I read the book-your book. I'm leaving, Myra-" he forgot about the child on the way-"do I have a second chance?"
Myra's lowered lashes hid the expression of her eyes. The mouth was a thin red seam. "Yes, I see Gail operating right now," she said, her voice composed. "And I understand now how she-got you. Well, I hope you two are very happy."
"Myra," he compelled her to look into his eyes, "I'm the most miserable man on earth. I told you the truth-I am through with her. She came here just to make trouble."
The waiter, standing at their table, cut his speech short.
"What is everyone drinking?" asked Jack.
"Sid here and I shall continue with scotch and water, right Sid?"
Sid nodded, and Jack ordered another bourbon for Myra and the same for him.
"Are you happy here in this glittering town? I guess you can write your own ticket." Jack caught Myra's hand that lay on the table but she withdrew it.
"Happiness is a fairy tale word. I feel-important.
And I have my next book all planned. Imagine, they're going to give me a screen test. If I click I may get a major part in my own movie." Her violet eyes held a purplish tinge; she took a deep breath. "Yes, I shall have a full life."
"It's, difficult to have a full life if one isn't loved and loves back."
"I'll settle for lighter sentiments, like liking somebody," she said. "One doesn't get hurt that way."
Jack took a long pull at his drink and suddenly die world looked brighter to him. "Well how about us two-liking each other?"
She smiled broadly. "I like you better in this mood, Jack. Let's enjoy the moment. "
"Did I hear you say enjoy die moment?" Gail turned to Myra. "I'm all for it. Let's make a night of it. Sid knows of a cute place with exciting French dancers. How about it?"
Sid lifted a conjuring hand. "I warn you, one and all, to leave your inhibitions at die door."
The Coin Noir was a dimly lit cellar on the outskirts of town. A ravishing redhead, partially covered by a tight black velvet sheath split at the side and showing a white flash of thighs, showed them to a corner table. Candles sheathed in bottles shed a flickering light on checkered table-cloths. There were only a handful of people, all couples, sitting practically on top of each other. The three piece orchestra played a plaintive, staccato rumba, and on die tiny dance floor two couples were convulsed in a tight embrace rubbing against each other.
Sid ordered champagne which Jack found out of order in a dump like that. But he refrained from voicing it.
"Just wait till Lilith performs," said Sid, who was sitting close to Gad. "She has more sex appeal than all the starlets thrown together."
"Look over there." Following Myra's glance, Jack saw two women huddled tightly together at the next table. The younger one in a tight white sweater looked like a high school kid. Her partner, a lean, olive-skinned woman in her forties, was caressing die girl, now bending close and kissing her on die cheek.
"Shocking," quoth Jack. "She's a mere kid."
"Come on Jack, bury your scruples. I find it intriguing," said Myra lightly.
Jack's retort choked in his throat, for now die floor had been cleared and the spotlight was on Lilith who wriggled into the middle of the empty space. Raven hair fell down to the girl's plump buttocks, barely covering die ivory mounds of breast with their saucy tips. A transparent gold veil covered her midriff and a golden fig leaf hid the strategic spot. In die pale face the dark eyes were liquid velvet. The mouth was a red gash. She had the figure of a Venus, and as she slowly undulated in rhythm with the music, her breasts swung freely with a life of their own.
"How cute, those gold-tipped nipples," giggled Gail, clutching Sid's hand.
Now the dancer's bare feet beat a choppy rhythm and as she bent forward she removed the golden veil, including fig leaf, telling the world she was a brunette. She now danced to Jack's table, her dark inviting eyes on Gail, who smiled back.
"She likes you," said Sid, pushing out a chair for the dancer who sat down, accepting the glass of champagne from Sid.
"To your green eyes, ma cherie," she toasted Gail who emptied her glass. "How are you, Monsieur Graham? You haven't honored us for a long time. Is this going to be another party at your place?"
"Well, I don't know, Lilith."
To Jack's horror, Myra spoke up. "Yes, why not, Sid? Let's take Lilith along to your place. Might be fun."
Jack wanted to object, but that meant he would have to take Gail home. So he agreed and, half an hour later, they all landed in Sid's bungalow, high atop a steep canyon.
Sid was behind the mahogany bar, mixing his special cocktail. "Hot Tongue, I call them, and rightly so," he chuckled, dexterously manipulating shakers, ice cubes and glasses, now pouring from many different bottles and shaking up a storm.
Myra must have been here before, thought Jack with a pang of jealousy. She had put his hat and coat away in the hall closet and now was busy with the record player, stacking a pile of carefully selected disks on the turn table. Sid must be doing well, thought Jack. The large room was furnished with flat-planed, expensive modern pieces; the wall to wall grey carpet was expensive. Only one tall lamp was shedding a dim light over the space, leaving the corners in semi-darkness. Lilith with clothes on, her hair in a bun, seemed less exotically exciting. She and Gail were sitting on the grey couch in a far corner, heads close together. Presently Myra joined Jack on die couch and allowed him to hold her hand. They listened to Rhapsody in Blue.
Sid walked around bearing drinks for everyone.
"To a night we shall enjoy and should forget," he toasted cryptically, making Jack frown.
"Relax Jack," Myra pumped his hand. "You look as disapproving as a Sunday school teacher with an empty class room." She clinked her glass to his. "Let's drink up and-forget."
The sweet-sour concoction was strong as dynamite making Jack cough and splutter. Rut Myra drained her glass holding it out to Sid for a refill.
"Careful Myra, it has a wallop."
"I like to be wallopped," said Myra, her eyes daring him, emptying the glass.
"Lilith, you look best au natural. Come on, start shedding." Saying this, Sid pulled the girl to her feet and unzipped" the monkish black dress. Gingerly she stepped out of it and they all gaped. For beneath the dress there was just Lilith. Apparently the girl knew what was expected of her. She started doing bumps and grinds, now taking off her pumps, doing a split. The black cape of hair shifted about, concealing and revealing her firm breasts and now, slowly, she paraded from one person to the next, allowing Gail to clutch at her apples, then again kissing Sid smack on the lips. Jack stiffened as Myra's white hand darted out to caress the girl's cheek, and from there traded down to where the golden fig leaf once had been. As Lilith halted before him, he inhaled her spicy perfume and it was Myra who placed Jack's hand on the girl's fleshy derriere.
Sid opened a door, inviting. "Into the boudoir, ladies and gents. Let's take our inhibitions off with our coverings."
Sid, Gail and Lilith marched into the bedroom, leaving Jack and Myra to themselves. Myra's eyes held a strange brilliance. She turned her face to Jack and in it he read unbridled lust. He was shocked, repelled, and yet, attracted.
"Myra, my love," his arms were about her and he pressed her close. "Let's leave. This is no place for decent people like you and me. I have longed for this moment."
But Myra detached herself, her eyes mocking. "Really Jack, don't act old fashioned. This is a novel experience-exciting. And I love excitement." Her arms were tight about his neck and she glued her lips to his, now parting them with her tongue that swished lightly over his teeth. They came open and he felt the velvety nakedness of that tongue titillating his palate. Well, if she wants it that way, he thought, clutching the soft roundness of her breasts, shivers of excitement coursing through him.
It was she who put out the lamp and in the dark he heard the rustle of her clothes hitting the rug. Still he sat there turned to stone, hating her for being just another thrill-starved dame, hating to discover that his idol had clay feet. Her fingers fumbled with his clothes. Well, what the heck, he was no saint.
They stood, tightly pressed together, his hardness straining against her soft curves, his fingers digging into the resilient cushions of her derriere. He felt the nipples harden against his chest. She moaned low. He carried her to the couch, depositing her carefully, kneeling by her side, wanting to worship, caress and fondle. He kissed her breasts, whispering words of endearment, stored up for this moment.
Rut she was impatient. She pulled him down over her, pressing him close, lips fused to his. "Tell me, Jack, how good is Gad? Does she kiss better than I?"
"Forget about Gail, she was-a mistake," he muttered, his hands in her sdky hair.
"And, were there many others, Jack? I mean girls you've made love to? Did they affect you as I do?"
"Stop asking Myra. I'm with the one woman I love-the only one for me."
Her voice had a cutting edge that paralyzed his ardor. "I prefer a man with experience, Jack. You see, I have changed. I like variety in men. It heightens the thrill. And after it's over I take myself back, all of myself, and I can walk away whole."
"Myra, you're teasing me. You're not like Gad." He bit her lip and slapped her cheek, releasing his anger but she clung to him even closer, seeming to enjoy his cruelty.
"And why should I be different from Gail? We are of the same blood." She moved beneath him and he inhaled the exotic scent that clung to her, his nerves on edge. He would show her, prove it to her that when a man truly loved a woman and made love to her lovingly, she couldn't just walk away when it was over.
"You're just acting, Myra," he whispered into her hair. "Punishing me for past mistakes. I want you all for myself, exclusively."
"No more talk," said Myra, gripping him, taking over.
He had intended to be careful and considerate, but she wanted brutal attack. So he infiltrated the alien territory relentlessly, pushing, thrusting forward, immersed in soft quicksand. His hands held her down and he moaned feeling her moving to edge him on and to further their, excitement. She bit his lower lip and pulled at his hair. A raucous gasp escaped her throat.
"Deeper, faster," she commanded, and he intensified the attack, his body on fire, his head reeling, a strange fury making him want to annihilate her, to finish her off so that there would be nothing left for another man. But the deeper he intruded and the more violent his thrusts became, the more she seemed to enjoy it.
"Darling, my breasts, please." He nipped at the hard nipple and listened to her hysterical giggle which was more of a sob.
"Don't stop, faster," she said, and he obliged, inundated in a sea of fire. Her thighs were clamped about his, and now he finally possessed her powerfully and forcefully, listening to her whimper and gasp of surrender.
She pushed him off. "I better get to the bathroom." She got up, breaking the spell.
He was hitching up his trousers when the lights flared up and their laughter greeted his sheepish expression, Lilith stood in the room and behind her were Sid and Gail in the altogether.
"No use pretending," said Gad. "Myra had to cross the boudoir to get to the bathroom."
Sid distributed some more drinks and Jack was worrying about Myra whose clothes lay crumpled on the rug. He picked them up and crossed over to the bedroom. "I better...." He disappeared, hearing their ringing laughter. He crossed the spacious bedroom looking at the mussed bed wondering whether the three of them had occupied it. Myra came out of the adjoining bathroom.
"How thoughtful of you, Jack." She took the rumpled clothes from his arm and tossed them nonchalantly on the bed, lying down on die rumpled sheet. "I think I shall rest awhile. You better go back to the others and enjoy yourself. That Lilith may teach you some new tricks," she giggled.
Jack sat down on the bed; his right hand trickled down her satiny front. "Is that all you can say to me, Myra? How could I look at another woman now-after...."
Myra sat up in bed. "Now Jack, we finally did it. And I enjoyed it. But it's over. No harm done. Now you can go back to Gad and make the best of your marriage." Her voice was flat, her eyes held no warmth.
Jack looked at her and his heart turned to stone. She had amused herself with him. To her, he was just another male with the necessary accoutrement to thrill her. She was no better than Gail-or Ninon. No, Ninon is different, he thought; she has feelings. With her he could be tender and loving without appearing ridiculous.
"I hope you have a nice rest." He turned and walked out of the room, out of the apartment. He knew where he was going to spend the rest of the night. Not with Gail, nor with Lilith. He stopped at the corner phone booth and called Ninon whose sleepy voice answered.
"Ninon, this is Jack-Jack Michaels. Can I come to your place?"
"Well, it's only a room. But yes, do come."
He repeated the address after her. "I'll be there shortly." He hung up, left the booth and hailed a cruising cab, giving the driver Ninon's address. In Ninon's arms he would bury the memory of Myra who had gone completely Hollywood. i
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jack climbed the two stairs to Ninon's room who stood in the door, pulling him inside and locking die door. She looked wonderful to him, so neat and clean in her white cotton pajamas. A white ribbon was wound about her head underscoring die little girl look. Her eyes were shining but her face was grave. Her voice was full of concern.
"Jack, you look so pale-are you ill?" She took his hat and coat and laid them over the back of a chair. Taking his hand, she led him to the small, battered couch. "Better sit down and rest." She sat close to him, not moving, her anxious eyes exploring his ravaged face. "Has-anything happened? I hope your wife-"
His raised hand stopped her. "Don't mention her. I've got no wife. She's everybody's wife," he cackled. Suddenly he felt dead tired and wondered what had made him come here. To impose upon this lovable child was utterly unfair. His throat was parched and his tongue was like a dry piece of wood in his palate.
"Got a drink for a thirsty man?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jack. But you see, I don't drink-only in company. But lean make you a cup of coffee."
He watched her busy herself at the two burner hot plate and laid back on the couch, closing his eyes. An iron band seemed clamped about his forehead. Once he opened his eyes to take in the narrow, shabbily furnished room with the bed in the corner. Two straw mats covered parts of the wooden floor. But everything was neat and orderly. His head fell back on the one thin pillow and everything dimmed and finally faded away.
The strong aroma of black coffee wafted up his nostrils, making him open his eyes. Ninon was holding the steaming cup under his nose, now smiling.
"Here, better drink this. I was afraid you'd fainted but you were just dozing."
He sat up, rubbed his eyes and took the cup from her fingers. He took a sip that burned his lips. "Ouch, hot and strong." Slowly he sipped while she stood by watching, taking the empty cup and putting it in the sink.
She has the tiniest feet I ever saw on a grown up woman, he thought watching her paddle barefooted about the room, taking the yellow spread off the bed and folding it carefully to put it on a chair.
Now she knelt in front of him and lifted his leg, pulling till one shoe came off. Then the other. "There, now let me help you undress. You need rest." He played helpless, allowing her to unzip him, takeoff the trousers. He stood up and took off his shirt, staring at her as he slipped off his shorts.
"You really should send me away. I don't deserve your concern."
But she led him to the bed and he lay down feeling her cool, soothing hand on his forehead. He fell asleep at once, never knowing just when she had crept into the narrow bed.
A ray of sun seeping through the blinds tickled his cheek. His eyes came open and he stared in amazement at die pale face on the pdlow, framed by dark vines of hair. Her long lashes cast shadows over her cheeks. He kissed the half parted lips. She moved and her arms reached for him. He took her in his embrace, cradling the dark head, caressing the soft midnight hair, feeling serene. Nothing would be demanded of him, he didn't have to act the roue, he could just be himself and he felt grateful to her.
"Ninon," he whispered, and her eyes opened; they were large and liquid and full of tenderness. He kissed die red lips and stroked the smooth rounded arms. "I need you, Ninon," he said to the room, surprised at his very words.
She stared solemnly at him and nodded. "I thought-I knew I'd lost you. I had resigned myself-you're too good to be true, Jack ... But now you're back. Or, are you?" Her eyes looked frightened. "Will you leave again and disappear?"
He shook his head and stroked her hair. "I have no intention of leaving the sweetest girl in the world." He sealed the promise with a kiss. Now he sat up in bed and grinned. "You'll probably get tired of me, I'm not what you'd call an exciting ladies' man, I want to feel" that the girl I care for is mine-exclusively. That becomes tiresome to most women."
"Not to me, jack. I go for you because you're-"
"Yes, I know," he laughed and the laughter freed his heart, "because I'm solid, dependable."
"Right," she stated. "And what would I want with another man, having you?" Utter sincerity was in her voice, reflected in the dark glow of the eyes.
"I know I'm much older than you, and probably a younger man that comes along-"
"It's what appeals to me-your being older. I feel protected."
Their lips met and there was no more time for words. Looking into the candid eyes, Jack forgot his disappointment with Myra, and ceased to mourn an old love that had died.
"Ninon," he held her face between his palms, "would you go away with me ... leave Hollywood?"
"You mean-you'd want me?"
He nodded. "Of course, this might mean losing your chance to become a star ... But I'll make it up to you. Would you?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Just ask me," she choked out.
His lips ground against hers and he stared raptly at her ivory breast with the pointed nipples, brushing his palms over them. She fluttered her lashes against his cheek. "When I'm with you I feel at home, Jack," she whispered, ruffling his hair.
He drew back the covers and she lay still allowing him to re-discover her body inch by inch, the flat, smooth abdomen and the lovely columns of her thighs centered by the dark secret flower of her hair; the long smooth legs with the incredibly small feet. He lifted her arms, ran his lips along their smoothness and kissed each finger. She wiggled and smiled, purring like a contented kitten. He became intoxicated smelling her scent, a light flowery fragrance mingling with her own, personal body odor. His finger tips touched the rigid nipples and now ran over die roundness of her breasts. He didn't have to hurry and get on with it. She lay there enjoying his touch, her palms moving down his spine, making him tremble with excitement. He read it in her eyes, that she was his woman, to do with as he pleased, and the knowledge set him on fire.
His hardness covered her soft curves and he whispered. "Sure you want me, Ninon?"
Her arms enfolded him and she kissed him with desperate urgency. "You're all I'll ever want," she said.
It was as if he'd never loved a woman before. He shivered and glowed, and felt dazed with excitement, taking her with slow deliberation, watching her eyelids flutter and her mouth quiver as he penetrated her. He wormed his way, feeling his strength, testing her resilience. Completely one with her, united, not alone in his ecstasy, knowing she shared it with him. He almost could taste his own potency and it made him giddy; he knew that to her he was more satisfying than any other male and the knowledge increased his virility.
He listened to her panting and kissed the moist, parted lips, shaken by a frenzy of excitement. Holding back, ready to explode, tight with unbearable longing.
He moved slowly, then accelerated the motion. Her hands dug into his shoulders and her face was a strained mask. "Now," he cried out, letting go!
For a long time they didn't move, wrapped in the mantle of euphoria, clinging to each other as if they were the only two people in the world.
As he came back from the bathroom she still had not moved, lying there eyes closed, a faint smile on her pale lips.
"You're wonderful, Ninon." He kissed her back to the present and she sat up, hugging him and clinging close.
"Jack, say it, that you won't disappear again."
His kiss promised. "And now you better get dressed. I'll take you out for a royal breakfast."
"Oh but we can have breakfast here." She jumped out of bed, donned her pajamas and opened the tiny refrigerator, taking out a package of bacon and a box of eggs. "See, I've got everything right here."
While he showered and dressed, she busied herself, moved the table to the window and brought on the eggs and bacon, filling their coffee cups.
"Here," she pushed back his chair and forced him down, "you're the guest of honor."
Jack gazed at the red begonia plant in the brown pot she had put on the table and from there, his eyes found hers.
"You're very sweet, Ninon. That's the only kind of girl a man like me needs and wants."
"Finish your eggs." She bent over her plate but he had seen the tears hanging on her lashes.
Surreptitiously he glanced at his wrist watch. Eleven o'clock. He had to phone the office. Never mind Gail; he knew she'd made out okay. Most likely she was with Sid. For one moment he wondered where Myra was. But it really didn't matter to him. He decided to phone Tom from the outside.
He arose and she brought his hat and coat, standing there like a school girl, waiting for his commands.
"Now Ninon," he fumbled for his wallet, opened it and extracted a hundred dollar bill. "I want you to get yourself a nice new dress. Red. And tonight I shall admire you in it. I'll call for you at seven. Without fail." He put the bill on the table.
He saw the doubt in her eyes and kissed it away. At the door she clung to him. "You-you won't disappear again, Jack?"
He took her face between his palms, his eyes sober. "When I get back I shall never leave you again, Ninon."
One short kiss and he was out of the door, closing it softly behind him. Climbing down the stairs, he whistled softly to himself. He felt light-hearted and young; he was a happy man.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
He decided against phoning and took a cab to Tom Sweeney's office. The receptionist stared at him strangely, exclaiming, "Oh, thank Heaven, Mr. Michaels. We've been trying to get you."
Tom appeared at the door to his inner sanctum, looking haggard, drawing Jack inside and closing die door.
"Jack, where have you been? I've been ringing your hotel suite on and off."
"Where's the fire?" inquired Jack, about to take off his coat. Tom's hand restrained him.
"No, no, there's not a moment to lose. Come on, I'll go with you." He ushered Jack out of the office down the corridor and into the elevator. Only in the taxi he spoke, giving the driver Sid Graham's address.
"Why are we going to that man's place? I hoped I'd never see him again."
"Jack, your wife-and no matter what, she's still your wife-she's there. Quite ill."
Jack's stomach knotted. The stars tumbled down from the heavens. "What happened? Is she-"
"She was still alive when Myra phoned. But it's serious. By now, the doctor should be there."
Jack sat quite still letting this sink in. What could have happened to Gad? She had seemed in excellent spirits. Vibrant. Now his insides tightened. The chdd-the child that she might never have ... No use asking Tom who wouldn't know about this. He felt delinquent. Although chances were slim, it might be his child and he had forgotten all about it. Had sought selfish enjoyment. Wild remorse ate at his heart.
The taxi stopped atop the canyon and Jack jumped out and ran into the house while Tom paid the driver and walked inside after him.
Myra, a pale and distraught Myra without make up, her hair in disorder, her unpainted lips bluish, met him in the hall.
"Jack, thank Heaven you're here." She threw herself at him, sobbing wildly.
He freed himself. "What happened? And, how is she? The doctor-"
"He's inside," she pointed at a closed door. "It's hopeless." She lowered her lids. "We had a wild lime, all of us enjoying ourselves with that hussy, Lilith. Then Gail, she didn't want to stop, she and Sid-well, this morning Sid woke me up. I was in die spare bedroom with Lilith. He stood at my bed and shook my arm.
"Gad's dying, come quickly," he said. I went into the other room and there she lay, pale as a sheet, not moving, bluish shadows under sunken eyes. Hardly breathing. Sid tried massaging her, but she remained lifeless ... We called your hotel-"
Jack frowned at the closed door. "What is it? Maybe just exhaustion from pleasure," he said cruelly.
"The doctor says it's septicemia-her blood is infected. He's been with her for some time."
Jack sat down in the nearest chair trying to clear his mind. Blood poisoning? What had poisoned her blood? Of course, in her precarious state of expectancy she could have been internally injured. His tired mind gave up; he knew nothing about the workings of the female apparatus. Maybe it wasn't as bad as they all thought. Maybe she would lose that baby ... Maybe she didn't have to die ... And although he didn't want to live with her any more, he wanted for her to live. She was young yet ... It seemed too great a punishment for her transgressions.
Myra touched his arm and he recoded. "No matter what, I have forgiven her. For having fun-taking Sid away from me."
"Where is Sid?" asked Jack, not really wanting to know.
"He's on the phone trying to get an ambulance." Jack looked at the opening door, getting up. The doctor's young face was set in severe folds. "Are you the husband?" Jack nodded. "She wants to see you. Don't let her talk too long. And," he turned to Myra, "no use calling an ambulance, she'll never make it."
Jack walked inside, feeling dazed. Gad's face looked whiter than die pillow. Her fingers moved but the hand didn't lift. He stared at the bony face, the pale blue lips and the sunken green eyes. This was not Gail, the frivolous wanton who grabbed what she wanted whether it was hers or not. This was a woman in the shadow of death.
Jack advanced; her fingers patted the quilt.
"I'm sorry, Jack-playtime's over. I was no good-no good for you."
Pity filled his heart. He took her icy hand in his.
"Don't talk. You will get well. The doctor says-"
She shook her head. "Curtains, Jack. Show's over." Her smile was a grimace baring her teeth. "I put one over on Myra-took Sid." She stopped to breathe and pearls of sweat broke out on her forehead. "So tired ... Caught up with Myra ... Jack, the doctor says blood poisoning ... That nurse, kitchen table...." She tried to press his hand but couldn't make it. "Jack, I lied to you-there is no baby coming ... That filthy woman-abortion-her dirty instrument-infected me."
"Don't upset yourself, you'll be saved," Jack tried to put conviction in his voice.
He saw saliva trickle down the corners of her mouth. Her chest moved; she gasped for breath. Her eyes seemed out of focus.
Jack you're solid-dependable." She sighed and her head seemed to sink deeper into the pillow.
The doctor stood behind Jack.
"Can't you do something for her, Doctor? Some shot?"
"I looked her over before you came. No use moving her."
Jack saw the lids flutter; her face turned into a rigid, waxen mask.
The doctor closed her lids and covered her with die sheet, leaving die room to make out his report. Myra stood beside Jack; they both stared at the white mound of the sheet.
"She wasn't all bad," said Myra more to herself. "Nobody is ... She just liked to take what she thought belonged to me-first you, and then Sid."
They walked into die other room. Sid stood there, his serious eyes on Myra. "Is she-"
Myra nodded. "She's gone," she whispered. "Oh Sid," she threw herself into Sid's opened arms and sobbed her heart out, "she was so full of life." She looked up into the usually sardonic eyes, grave now. "You did like her, Sid?"
"She was nice to have fun with, Myra," he said. "Rut it's you I've always wanted."
Seeing their kiss, Jack slunk away, feeling unwanted.
He went into the nearest bar and after three drinks knew that his own life was not over with Gail's death. There was no baby, and he was, as of now a free man. He hoped Myra and Sid would hit it off permanently and wished them well. He would bury Gail right here, and after a while he would get in touch with Tom Sweeney who would help with the funeral arrangements.
After two more drinks, he felt awfully lonesome. There must be some one person in the world he could be with now, one who wouldn't prattle foolishly. One just for his need, soothing and appeasing, rocking him to sleep. He put down the glass, left a big bill on the bar and walked into the phone booth dialing Ninon's number.
"Darling, I'm so glad I caught your call. I was just going out to buy that red dress."
"Never mind the dress, Dear. I need you-I-" he fumbled for words.
Her anxious voice hit his ear. "You in trouble, Jack? Where are you?"
"Don't go away, wait." He opened the booth, called to the bar tender. "What's the name of this joint? And the address, quick."
He repeated the words of the bar man into the phone. 'Triangle Bar, 210 Locust Drive.' How long-"
She didn't let him finish. "You wait there. Don't go away. I'm on my way."
He let the receiver dangle, stepped out of the booth and asked the bar man for a cup of coffee. He wanted to be sober when Ninon arrived. He had plans-lots of plans. She would find him sober, solid, and dependable.
